Concerto
by Teh Twinnesses Presents
Summary: HIATUS. Echizen Ryoma, son of Echizen Nanjiroh, the legendary violin virtuoso. Bored with life, he longs for purpose, and finds it in one man: Tezuka Kunimitsu. Watch as he breaks through the barriers keeping him from being the best.
1. OVERTURA

**Concerto**  
_Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria_

**Standard Disclaimer: **Prince of Tennis, the characters, and any recognizable trademarks of said series all belong to mangaka Konomi Takeshi and are rightfully disclaimed. The authors of this fanfiction own no more than the original characters used and the story's plot. Furthermore, the use of Tokyo Ongaku Daigaku's name in this story does not give ownership to the writers. Property, name, and all trademarks are disclaimed. _Anything else that needs to be disclaimed will be mentioned in their respective chapters._

**Warning(s):** Drama, Angst, possible Mature Content (Lemon). **Ratings might go up.**

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **This is an AU (Alternate Universe) fic, meaning the story will NOT be following the anime/manga (canon) timeline and characters' ages. Ages will be disclosed later on in the story.

We realize that we will be using musical terminology within this fic that might not be familiar to most people. Do not fear; we will be providing definition at the beginning of each chapter, numbered and made comprehensible for even those who have little or no formal musical education.

A note on Tokyo Ondai: we will be using the NAME of a real school, but we will not be patterning over the actual floor plan and campus map, or anything of the sort. In short, we are only borrowing a name. Everything else is make-believe. Nothing more.

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* * *

**OVERTURA**

"_I was born with something to live up to. I'll be standing on the path I can't turn my back on."_

* * *

_- _

**(1) Da Capo **– Literally "repeat from the beginning"; an Italian musical term used to direct the musician to repeat the said part of the music.

**(2) Tokyo Ongaku Daigaku (Ondai)** – Tokyo College of Music. This is an institute that exists in real life, and can be found in Ikebukuro, Tokyo. It is the oldest private music school in the country, having been founded in 1907 in Kanda, Tokyo. (Founded as 'Tokyo Conservatory of Music / Tokyo Ongaku Gakko')

**(3) **_**baba**_– A derogatory petname that literally means "hag"; roughly translated to "old hag" in modern slang.

**(4) double stops** – The act of playing two notes simultaneously on a stringed instrument (i.e. violin, cello) or a melodic percussion instrument (i.e. timpani). This is considered to be an advanced technique. (Variations: triple stop, quadruple stop; the latter being almost impossible.)

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* * *

-

"Do I _really_ have to go?"

"Yes you do, darling," bustled Rinko as she placed several gift wrapped boxes and a stack of airtight food containers into two huge paper bags. The wintry cold swept into the room as Nanjiroh opened the balcony to check if they left anything outside. "You know that we rarely see Ryuuzaki-sensei—she's always out and about, the sweet lady! I would swear she is not her age…"

Ryoma grumbled. "But I'm still tired from the competition," he whined. It was another one of those annual things he was invited to join every year. Strange as it was, he still agreed to do so obediently year after year after year, even if he was more than fed up with the repetitiveness of it all.

This was his life; the life of a child prodigy, a celebrated young musician, a violin talent to be remembered.

In all honesty, if he could write down his life as sheet music, he would put _'Da Capo' _(1) at the very end. This was more than just routine; this was no ordinary repetitiveness. This was the boring, leading-to-nowhere type of repetitiveness—the type of repetitiveness he never felt up to playing in his musical pieces.

The soft chilly breeze faded as Nanjiroh slammed the balcony glass doors shut, locking them and drawing the curtains close. "Tired?" he snorted. "You _can't_ be tired, seishounen! You did nothing but stand there, make them all gape in awe at your music, bow, and then hightail it out of the theatre!"

Ryoma scowled. This was one of those moments when he wanted to bury his father six feet under.

"I mean, honestly," sniffed Nanjiroh, standing behind the kitchen chair Ryoma was slouched against and mussing the prodigy's hair. Ryoma batted the intruding hands away. "You're too antisocial, you know. Especially for someone who's been exposed to crowds and who's been performing since childhood. You need to go out some more and make some friends. Like, you know; the _real_ kind."

"I have Kevin," muttered Ryoma under his breath, intending for neither his father nor his mother to hear it.

However, Rinko quipped, "_Friends_, Ryoma—note the 's' at the end. Plural. Your father is right—you need more social exposure. We don't want you growing old all crabby without anyone to talk to. That's too sad an existence."

Ryoma rolled his eyes inwardly. _As if my current existence is any improvement._

"Whatever," he mumbled, casting his eyes down and grabbing one of the bags. "Let's go before it gets any later. It's already seven." Nanjiroh just sighed and shrugged to his wife as the teen walked out of the kitchen.

-

* * *

-

Ryoma shivered slightly as they crossed the parking lot of the hotel. Prague was not as cold as Stockholm during the winters, but it was still far too cold for Ryoma's taste. Wrapping his coat snugly around his lean form and crossing his arms, he tried to prevent his teeth from chattering. "Why did we have to go tonight again? I mean, we could have gone tomorrow noon, when hopefully the thrice damned temperature would have already risen a few degrees!"

"That old hag is leaving for Paris tomorrow afternoon, Ryoma—you know that already," sighed Nanjiroh. The older man took off his scarf and wrapped it around Ryoma's neck. "And where the hell did your scarf go? That's the fifth you've lost this week, Ryoma."

"It is not!" sniffed Ryoma childishly, pouting. Losing scarves was his other specialty aside from music. For some reason, he just could not keep a single scarf for longer than a week. (His current running record was a week and a day.)

Nanjiroh chuckled. "Oh yes it is," he chided.

It wasn't long before they stepped into the hotel's reception area, and Ryoma heaved a sigh in relief. "Ah, blessed warmth." He smiled a small smile to himself, taking off his gloves and rubbing his hands together and flexing his precious fingers. It would be disastrous if his hands and fingers were damaged in any way; they were his investment. Without them, he would be meaningless.

"Cold, darling?" his mother asked as they strode into the elevator. His mother took his hands into her own and rubbed warmth into them. "We should really get you a new pair of thermal gloves."

"Or we could just get out of Prague as soon as possible, mum," grumbled the young man. "You _know_ I don't do cold weather."

"London will be just as cold, darling, if not colder," Rinko reminded him. "And besides, this will be our first Christmas in Prague since you were ten!" she cooed. "And think of all the places we could go to on your sixteenth birthday!"

"That was just six years ago," Ryoma mumbled, shaking his head. A comforting pat was all he got from his silent father. It was understood between the males of the Echizen family that when the only female—otherwise known as the Alpha—spoke, her word was law. That was it, and that was final (or else).

Room 407 was not far from the elevator—much to Ryoma's relief—and soon, they were face to face with the suite door. In all honesty, Ryoma couldn't care less about Ryuuzaki.

Ryuuzaki Sumire was Nanjiroh's first music teacher, and arguably one of the best music coaches Japan. Well-known and demanded all over the world, she traveled far and wide to discover and cultivate young musical talents when she was young—her first student as a music teacher had been Nanjiroh, a long time ago in Tokyo. Ever since then, she'd been tracking Nanjiroh, and in return, Nanjiroh kept in close contact (for fear of being pummeled to death should he do otherwise).

The critical and sometimes overly wise woman—in her mid-fifties but still working tirelessly to scout new talents—was just another presence in Ryoma's life. She was somewhat Ryoma's second teacher—second to Nanjiroh, who had coached him through and taught him every single thing he knew about music. Every time he would perform, she would somehow get her hands on a copy and write a short e-mail about things Ryoma could improve on in his music. Of course, as time passed, the pointers decreased gradually—a sign that Ryoma was growing.

The last e-mail, however, had thrown Ryoma out of axis that he'd sulked in his room for a whole day.

"_I have nothing else to teach you, Ryoma. There is nothing left that neither I nor Nanjiroh can teach you. But there are still plenty you must learn before you can call yourself _the_ best violinist virtuoso, young man, and we will not be the ones teaching you those lessons."_

"Nanjiroh, Rinko-chan! And my, Ryoma-kun," smiled Ryuuzaki, ushering them in. Nanjiroh steered an apathetic Ryoma into the suite after the two ladies before them, who were chattering away like they hadn't talked to each other in ten years.

Soon enough, Ryoma was coatless, ungloved, and scarf-free. He was situated snugly between the squishy arms of a huge squishy brown leather couch. Ryuuzaki promptly placed a mug of steaming hot white chocolate spiced with peppermint in front of him, and he promptly grabbed it to warm his still freezing hands.

"Oh, did you have another guest, Ryuuzaki-sensei?" noted Rinko. "Ever the famous, are we?" she smiled.

"Ah," Ryuuzaki picked up the empty mug on the table and headed over to the adjacent small kitchen to deposit it into the sink. "It was one of my students, Yukimura-kun. Excellent young lad. Very proficient. He's a cellist."

"Oh. Is he another one of your Ondai students?" inquired Rinko as she seated herself.

"Ah, yes," nodded Ryuuzaki as she went and seated herself beside Rinko. Ryoma's eyes wandered over to where there were a few stacks of DVDs and videotapes by the flatscreen. "I first met Yukimura-kun in Vienna. He was quite the prodigy. A genius, I say. His father eventually consented and let him go to Tokyo Ondai (2) with me after a few months of persuasion." There was a pause, and then Ryuuzaki chuckled, "Go ahead and play with them, Ryoma."

Ryoma scowled. "I'm not a little kid." However, he did stand and move over to where the videotapes were, pulling with him a pouf. As he sat and started rifling through the organized stacks, his ears listened attentively to the discussion behind him.

"How's Tokyo Ondai been treating you, Ryuuzaki-sensei?" Rinko said. Ryoma could almost see her gentle smile.

"The usual," replied Ryuuzaki. "Students being the headache-inducers they're supposed to be; fellow teachers are being the uptight old geezers they were born to be. We have quite a group of talented students out there." She glanced at Ryoma. "I think Ryoma will get along well with them."

"I'm not going to Japan."

Nanjiroh rolled his eyes. "Don't barge into adult conversation."

"I'm not a kid."

Rinko giggled. "Ryoma-chan, don't be so grouchy."

"I'm not grouchy."

A jab at the remote.

"And don't call me _'Ryoma-chan'_."

-

* * *

-

A slender hand snatched the ringing mobile phone from the table, flipping it open and placing it by an ear. The other hand reached for the glass of water on the small plastic table, raising it to full and smiling lips.

"Hello? Ah—Genichirou?" came the gentle and almost feminine voice. A smile, and then, "Mm, it was an excellent line-up. Yeah. I enjoyed it a lot."

There was a pause as the glass was set down once again and a pencil was picked up. There was a brown portfolio lying open and half-occupying the table, and a litter of worn and well-reviewed music sheets were piled on top of it. The pencil tapped a steady three-fourths rhythm according to the topmost sheet's time signature. It read _Anitra's Dance (for cello)_ _by__E. Grieg_.

The young man chuckled. "Has Akaya been giving you trouble again? Oh, now that won't do. Could you get him on the phone—oh, he's asleep. Ah, well, just tell him that I won't be giving him his souvenir if he doesn't behave until I come back. He'll listen."

A ruffle of papers ensued when his elbow brushed against the edge of the portfolio, and a leaflet containing the pictures and a brief introduction of the concour he had attended fell to the side.

One name caught his eye, and he smiled a knowing smile.

"Say, Genichirou?" he started. "Do you think we have enough space for one more prodigy over there?" A pause, a chuckle, and then, "Oh, no, no. It's just that I have a feeling someone quite remarkable will be joining us pretty soon. Granted it won't be easy, but he'll come."

There was a moment of stillness and silence, and then a mild laugh erupted from the young man. "Okay. Okay, I'll leave you to your devices, then. Good luck with Akaya." Another pause. "Yes, of course. Yes. I will. You go to sleep too—it's four in the morning over there, right? Of course. Good night."

A small smile was curving upon those lips as the phone was gently replaced on the table. The fallen leaflet was lifted up to eyelevel.

"Echizen Ryoma, huh…"

-

* * *

-

"…and that one, if I'm not mistaken, is Chitose Senri from Kyushu. He was quite something. Unfortunately, he stopped joining competitions about a year or so ago," Ryuuzaki explained as Ryoma watched. "He would have been a fine addition to my orchestra."

Nanjiroh snorted. "You talk as if they're your private collection or something!"

"Well, aren't they?" exclaimed Ryuuzaki indignantly. "The wondrously talented young people—the future of music!"

"Shut up, _baba_ (3)," grumbled the Echizen patriarch, only to receive a pillow to the face.

Ryoma tilted his head to one side. "Hmm… mada mada da ne," he shrugged. "His double stops (4) falter quite a bit and it makes his sound very… unclean."

"Well, that was years ago! He was sixteen there. He's turning nineteen now," shrugged the music coach. "He could have improved, for all we know. A few years is a long time."

It was always like this whenever Ryoma viewed Ryuuzaki's old videotapes and records. Ryoma would view, and Ryuuzaki would promptly explain the background of the musician on screen. Ryoma did not even have to ask questions—he never did, anyway. All the adults understood that that meant that Ryoma was just not interested with what he was seeing.

Ryoma disinterestedly fast-forwarded through the ear-prickling renditions of Schubert's _Serenade_ and Chopin's _Nocturne._ Some people just did not know their own boundaries; the rest of them were just ignorant and plain disrespectful to the deceased and honored composers, daring to desecrate the music as such.

He sighed.

_If you're gonna do something, then do it properly!_

He stabbed the 'Next' button on the remote and guzzled down his now warm chocolate. Behind him, chatter was resuming between Rinko and Ryuuzaki, with constant interruption by Nanjiroh, but he could care less. He wasn't really paying attention to anything except the nice tingle the peppermint in his hot drink induced at the back of his throat and the pleasant warmth that was cocooning him in a comfortable embrace.

And to top it all off, there was the perfect background music—

Wait.

Background music?

His eyes flew to the screen, and stayed glued there.

Here was a bespectacled young brunet, most probably only a year or two older than he was. Ryoma's eyes watched the hands—the fingers—as a hawk would watch its prey; they were smooth and flawless. Unconfused by the fast notes, undaunted by the multiple stops—it was completely flawless.

_Who is this?_

The sheer emotion behind each note sends a tremor of anticipation shimmying up and down Ryoma's spine. He stiffened in his seat and resisted the urge to childishly sidle up to the screen and press his nose against it. If music was a living image, this would have been a fire and a rose. A passionately burning fire—blues and greens and yellows and oranges—and a velvet red rose; flames licking along the dew-dripping rose's petals—licking, but never really burning—

_Who is this person?_

Perfection and brilliance beyond comprehension; that was what this person embodied.

"Ryuuzaki-sensei."

It was perhaps the fact that he rarely—if ever—spoke voluntarily without being prompted first during these visits that made Ryuuzaki ignore him unintentionally. Under the chatter Rinko was making, Ryoma was quite sure his voice had been a mere whisper lost in the wind. His mother was normally as quiet as a mouse, but a mouse stepped on was a mouse as loud as a lion after all.

"_Ryuuzaki-sensei._"

"—can't believe that!!" exclaimed Rinko as the two ladies exploded into laughter.

"_Ryuuzaki-sensei!_"

"—didn't really do—y-yes, Ryoma?" Ryuuzaki snapped out of the flow of the lively chatter. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear—"

"Who is this?" Ryoma asked forwardly—almost brusquely, keeping his burning eyes fixated on the violinist featured on the screen.

Silence pervaded for a full minute.

"I'm sorry?" Rinko voiced in wonder.

"I asked you who this is!" Ryoma exclaimed.

Ryuuzaki chuckled. "That, Ryoma," she said, leaning forward eagerly. She chided herself inwardly why she hadn't thought of this before—of_ course_ Tezuka would fascinate Ryoma! This way, she'd have more of a chance to persuade Ryoma into joining Ondai. "That is Tezuka Kunimitsu. He is currently a third-year student at Tokyo Ondai, and is widely known across and outside campus. He is the head of one of the major dormitories, and he also holds a lead position in my orchestra. He assists supervisors and prefects, excels in every subject, and is well-respected among his peers. Some even view him as an older brother of sorts."

Ryoma slowly turned back towards the screen and listened to the last few well-played notes of Brahm's_ Third Sonata, Fourth Movement—Presto Agitato_.

"Tezuka Kunimitsu…"

Ryuuzaki smiled in victory, while Rinko merely clasped her hands in delight. Nanjiroh rolled his eyes, inwardly groaning at the fact that he would now have to travel back and forth Europe and Japan to simultaneously keep up with his work and to teach his son. That would mean more expenses, which would in turn mean less magazines.

"Oyaji."

A resigned sigh.

"Yes, Ryoma."

"I'm going to Japan."

A squeal and a grin.

"…I know. Damn it."

* * *

**To Be Continued**  
_(R__evised Version)_

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**Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria**  
_First Draft: 14 Dec 2007  
Uploaded: 14 Dec 2007  
Last __Revised: __04 Dec 2007_


	2. SONATA Mov I: Op 01: Risoluto

**Concerto**  
Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer:**_Standard disclaimer applies._ Furthermore, we rightfully disclaim Tokyo Daigaku and Tokyo Geijutsu Daigaku. We own nothing of theirs; we are only merely mentioning and borrowing names.

**Chapter Warning(s):** None so far.

**Note:** Apologies to those anonymous reviewers who have failed to review for the first chapter; we hadn't noticed that the anonymous review function in our account was disabled. Our bad. It's enabled now. You can go ahead. We apologize for the inconvenience.

* * *

**SONATA**  
_**First Movement**_

**Op. 01: ****Risoluto**

"_There is no chance, no destiny, and no fate that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul."_

* * *

_- _

**(1) aniki** – A term meaning "older brother".

**(2) Toudai (Tokyo Daigaku)** – 'University of Tokyo'. One of the leading research institutes in Japan. While all academic disciplines are taught at the University, it is well-known for science, law, and literature. However, their music school definitely does not lag behind.

**(3) Tokyo Geidai (Geijutsu Daigaku)** – 'Tokyo National University of Fine Arts and Music'. One of the oldest and most prestigious schools in Japan.

**(4) Ryo**-**nyanko-chan** – "Ryo-kitty"; '_nyanko-chan_' literally means '_kitty_'.

**(5) Konbanwa** – Good evening.

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* * *

-

Ryoma was now with a purpose.

He would find Tezuka Kunimitsu, and nothing was going to stop him; not the frost and cold of Tokyo's coldest month, not the unfriendly urban environment he was not used to—not even the incessant annoyed chattering in his ear was going to stop him from jumping halfway across the globe and getting into Tokyo Ondai.

"…_totally unfair! You could have at least told me that you had plans! You didn't even tell me you were leaving!"_ his blond childhood friend Kevin, who was halfway across the world in London, screamed into his ear. "_Some __bloody__ best friend you are, damn you!"_

"_Oh, get over it, Kevin,_" he sighed in exasperated English. His eyebrow ticked. Above all, he hated speaking English or any other foreign language while he was in public. Eyes were drawn to him like bees to honey. This was one of the main reasons he didn't like Tokyo. "_Look,__I'm in__ the bus right now, and you know I don't like talking on the phone while traveling. So please, Kevin. And besides, you're busy in the band with _aniki (1)_, aren't you? Didn't you say you had several US concerts?"_

"_But still!"_ whined the blond, making Ryoma roll his eyes. This was probably why they got along with each other so well; they had the same tendencies. _"It's unfair!"_

"…_fine. What do I have to do to get you to stop whining into my ear?"_ Ryoma grumbled.

"_A ticket to Japan after we finish our concerts! You _must_ let me visit! And for free!"_ Kevin immediately quipped.

Another reason why they got along well with each other: they were both overgrown spoiled brats.

"_Oh, fine, fine. Free ticket,"_ sighed Ryoma. _"Now go away. My stop is next."_

A giggle came from across the line. _"That's a promise, alright? Okay, bye, Ryoma! Mwah!"_

And the line went dead.

Grumbling, Ryoma closed his phone and shoved it into his pocket, sinking further into the cushioned bus seat he was occupying. He secured his thick scarf around his neck—all the while praying he would not lose it again—and shoved his hands into his pocket. He could already see the university's campus through the window across the street.

He picked up his messenger bag and the sleek black violin case he was carrying with him; the rest of his luggage was already in the dormitories ahead of him. He had to commend Ryuuzaki; the old lady worked fast. Less than a month ago he had decided he wanted to enter the college, and already here he was. All his papers were in, and somehow, Ryuuzaki had managed to work around the issue of his age. He_was_ younger than the standard, after all. He would be a year younger than all of the freshmen.

As he descended the steps of the bus into the January winter cold, he could not help but feel a slight tingle of apprehension. Oh, he was more than sure that he would be qualified to attend the university—he was an internationally acclaimed performer, after all. That was not what he was worried about.

His eyes swiveled towards the tall spire that read 'Tokyo College of Music'.

_Why do I feel apprehensive? This is only Tokyo. This is nothing compared to Europe's best._

He frowned, heaving his bag and crossing the street.

_Well, only one way to find out, I guess…_

_-_

* * *

_-_

"What about the concours? Have they figured anything out for it yet? It's only barely a month from now."

"So far, they haven't talked to me about it yet," sighed Yukimura. "You know the school board; they get lazy from time to time. You would honestly do better not to expect anything from them." Across the meeting table, Sanada Genichirou shook his head. The double doors swung open behind him, and Yukimura smiled. "Ah! Tezuka-san, Fuji-kun. Good afternoon."

Tezuka nodded politely, and Fuji smiled back and returned the greeting. The brown-haired young man inquired, "Atobe and Oshitari-san aren't here yet?"

Yukimura let out a pleasant laugh as Tezuka sat on his right side. "You know Atobe, Fuji-kun. He likes to make us wait, if only to make us realize that we should be awed at his 'ever-astounding generous presence'."

"Well said, Yukimura-kun," another voice came as the doors once more swung open. Atobe swept into the meeting room, followed by an ever-amused Oshitari. "Good afternoon."

Nods and greetings were exchanged across the table as the three dorm heads converged together with their assistant dorm heads for the first meeting of the year. The six of them made the head of the student council—the rest were secretaries, auditors, a smattering of councilors, club heads, and event coordinators, and two representatives from the school board and the faculty each.

"Well, let's begin, shall we?" Yukimura smiled, leaning forward and removing his elbows from the table. He opened the portfolio that was handed across the table by Oshitari Yuushi, who represented the infamous Data Trio of the campus to the student council and acted as the assistant head for Dorm III.

"Hmm… it seems we have quite a lot to cover today," Fuji remarked, eyes scanning through the meeting agenda and accepting the hot drink from one of Atobe's servants (only heaven knew how he'd… _persuaded_ the board to let him have his own servants within the school).

"Genichirou and I were just discussing the concours before you came in," Yukimura chirped. "How about we start with that? By far it's the most pressing issue; getting ready for the spring fest and dealing with the choir's recent… ah, _disputes_—well, that can come later, don't you think?"

"Tachibana-san has agreed to oversee the preparations for the spring fest, by the way," Oshitari informed them. "I passed him by this morning, and he has informed me that he would be more than willing."

"Well, that's good," shrugged Fuji. "He's been dealing with the festivities ever since he came here. He would know what to do." A sip, and then, "So, then. The concours."

"All the previous contenders have agreed to join the tryouts. At least, those who haven't graduated yet." Oshitari immediately presented a folder containing the filled-out sign-up sheets.

"Are there any new and promising talents within the first and second years?" Tezuka asked silently. "It would be good to have some new faces within our ranks. For the past years we've been competing, and yes, we've been winning, but the school board would surely want some new faces."

Fuji frowned thoughtfully. "Are there? I don't think so."

"Fuji-kun, if I'm not mistaken, your younger brother transferred from Toudai (2) into the college this fall semester, correct?" Oshitari suggested. "Fuji Yuuta. Why not let him join the tryouts?"

"Yuuta?" chuckled Fuji. "Well, I'm not going to stop him if he wants to try for the concours."

"You don't sound too eager," Atobe observed, raising an eyebrow. "That's not like you, Fuji."

Fuji merely smiled. "We all know the level at which we compete within the concours, Atobe. Yuuta isn't ready for that level. Not just yet. I don't want to set him up for failure."

"That sounds reasonable on Fuji-kun's part," Yukimura shrugged. "Tokyo Geidai (3) will be at our throats this year. They would be 'screaming for blood and vengeance' once more, as Inui-kun had so aptly phrased it," he chuckled. "And from what I'd gathered, they hired two new maestros from France and Italy."

"Oh, wow," Fuji said, eyebrows shooting up. "They're _that_ desperate?"

"So it seems," smiled Yukimura.

"It matters not; ore-sama will not be daunted by their petty attempts to contrive another dismal plan to try and execute their godforsaken revenge," sniffed Atobe haughtily. "Victory is ours."

Smiles flitted across the table at Atobe's words. No matter how utterly vain and infuriatingly arrogant the diva was, he did spout some sense. Once in a while.

"However, ore-sama cannot help but notice this sense of... _unnatural_ confidence you exude, Yukimura," Atobe continued, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, you flatter me, Atobe-san! But we all know you aren't my type!" Yukimura coyly batted his eyelashes, making Fuji giggle and Oshitari snort. Tezuka and Sanada simply stared at each other in exasperation.

Atobe's eyebrow ticked. Yukimura and Fuji erupt in laughter. "You would do well to remember that you are not ore-sama's type either, _Yukimura-san_."

The said council head's laughter died down into chuckles. "I am merely confident because I know that there will be a most excellent addition to our ranks this year, Atobe-_kun_."

Curious glances were thrown, but before anybody could ask whatever in the world Yukimura meant, there was a knock on the door.

"Pardon!" came a muffled voice from outside the door, and a moment later, a head poked into the meeting room. "Sorry to disrupt the meeting, but the President wants you in the Welcome Lobby, Yukimura-san."

"The College President?" echoed Tezuka.

"Wow, that's rare," Fuji remarked.

Yukimura just smiled and said, "I'll be there in a moment, Momoshiro-kun. Thank you!" He stood and turned to the rest of them. "Well, it seems our new student is here."

-

* * *

-

_Just hurry it up and get me out of this godforsaken cold, old man!_

Or so screeched Ryoma's inner voice.

Outwardly, he was ever the perfect prodigy, smiling wanly and greeting the President. Immediately upon stepping before the looming Administration Building, the school's guards had recognized him and alerted the small welcome committee waiting within the safety and warmth of the Lobby. What Ryoma could not fathom was why they all had to stand like a bunch of buffoons outside in the freezing cold, when the entire Lobby would be able to provide enough space for all of them to fit in comfortably.

"We are very pleased that you have chosen to become a student in our college, Echizen-kun," the old man smiled at him, as if undaunted by the cold. Ryoma's fingers were already numb. "Ryuuzaki-sensei has told us all about you. We look forward to hearing you play for us soon."

_I can't feel my feet._

"Oh, and how timely—we hope you will join the concours this spring! I'm_ positive_ it would be a fine experience for you. We have quite a lot of talented students coming along for the competition, you know! I'm sure you'll get along just fine with them."

_Now it's my legs. I can't feel my legs!_

"Rest assured all of the paperwork has been taken care of. It will be up to you, however, to sign up for your classes and to manage your schedule. You will also need to sign up for either an ensemble or the orchestra—"

_My arms are numb. __If they fall off, I'm going to sue you so bad all you'll have left is your undergarments to protect your sniveling balls from the cold._

"—oh, here's Yukimura-kun!"

_I want Karupin.__ Please let me in._

"Ara, Kobayashi-san!" a gentle voice addressed the President. "What are you all doing here in the cold? Let's go inside! Our poor guest looks like he's about to keel over as ice!"

_Oh, blessed warmth, blessed warmth_, Ryoma's mind chanted as he was ushered into the lobby. He immediately took off his gloves and rubbed his hands together. Absently, he muttered a silent 'thank you' to the person steering him to the couches nearby.

"You're very welcome," the gentle voice spoke again.

Something within Ryoma's memory clicked, and he looked up.

"Heeh." A smirk slowly drew across his face.

Yukimura smiled his trademark smile and greeted, "Echizen Ryoma, son of the famous violin virtuoso, Echizen Nanjiroh."

Ryoma's smirk widened. "Yukimura Seiichi, son of the famous cellist-turned-maestro, Yukimura Yuui."

"Touché," Yukimura chuckled. "On behalf of the student council, welcome to Tokyo Ondai, Echizen-kun."

"Well met, Yukimura-san. It's nice to see and finally be properly acquainted with a familiar face." Ryoma offered his hand, which Yukimura promptly took with a slight upturn to his lips, fully accustomed with the other's quirks.

He'd found out that the violinist prodigy only used his Japanese heritage to his advantage and at his own discretion. If one managed to capture his interest and favor, he would offer his hand as a greeting; if one does not, however, he would incline his head in a polite and traditionally Japanese bow. The latter counted for most of the population.

Like so, now.

The flustered President seemed to finally regain his bearings and proceeded to introduce himself and his associates. However, before anyone could take possession of Ryoma's hand, the youth inclined his form into a bow a scant from the acceptable level of politeness. The President and the rest of the welcoming committee took it all in stride, impressed with the young man's knowledge of Japanese custom—they, of course, saw fit to shower him with compliments and fitting praise.

Echizen Ryoma had just insulted them, and none of them was any wiser.

Yukimura silently giggled in amusement—oh, how frighteningly similar this young man was to their one and only Atobe Keigo! He could only begin to imagine the headache it would bring poor Tezuka.

"It is a fair surprise to see you at our school, Echizen-kun—much less in Japan, of all places," Yukimura casually said, flipping through some papers inside the small office he had inside the student council's quarters. The meeting, as far as he could see, had already been either adjourned or postponed—he would find out later with Sanada. "I knew we would eventually cross each other's paths, but I honestly would not have expected to be acquainted _here_, of all places."

From where Ryoma was sitting, he could see the telltale smile curving on the other's lips. He cast his eyes skyward, and sighed. "Enough with the charade, Yukimura-san. We both know you expected me to come sooner or later. Heaven knows how you figured it out, but I'm well-known for my lack of subtlety anyways," he shrugged as he toyed with the empty cup of tea in front of him.

Yukimura's smile only widened.

"I'll be frank, then," Ryoma continued without pause. "I want to meet Tezuka Kunimitsu."

"Oh?"

"I want to beat him and be the best."

There was silence.

And then Yukimura chuckled heartily.

Ryoma scowled. "What's so funny?"

"You see, I have a friend named Akaya," Yukimura serenely smiled, placing a folder in front of Ryoma and seating himself across the said youth. "You'll meet him later. You remind me of him. Terribly."

"…hn," Ryoma grunted.

Yukimura was weird.

"Terribly endearing," the elder smiled, reaching over and patting Ryoma's head affectionately. The furious glare thrown his way was ignored. "Like an infatuated little puppy chasing after the mighty tiger."

Twitch. "Yukimura."

Frown. "You don't like puppies?"

Twitch. "That's not the _point_."

"How about kittens, then?" quipped Yukimura. After a few moments of contemplative silence, the cellist beamed a positively delighted grin that made Ryoma wince. He'd seen that grin far too often on his mother's face, and the outcome never really was pretty. "I know! From now on, you'll be Ryo-nyanko-chan (4)!"

Scowl. "_Don't_ call me that!!"

Yukimura erupt into delighted laughter—laughter so velvet and gentle that it made flurries of tinkling shivers run down Ryoma's spine. Then and there he decided that he liked Yukimura's laughter—despite the cellist's overbearingly affectionate nature and deceiving smiles, Ryoma knew that this person just became his first friend.

As the laughter slowly dwindled into chuckles—which made the scowl on Ryoma's face ever more pronounced—Yukimura pushed the folder forward. "Well, nyanko-chan," he teased, earning a hiss. "You're in luck. It seems you will meet Tezuka Kunimitsu extra-early."

Ryoma immediately sobered.

"We have vacant quarters within Dorms I and III right now, but we have only one vacancy left within Dorm II, which is under Tezuka-kun's jurisdiction. I think you will prefer that last spot, no?" Yukimura smiled when Ryoma nodded eagerly. "Apart from a plethora of other commitments, Tezuka-kun juggles the responsibilities of being a Dormitory Head, which automatically makes him part of the head of the Student Council with me," Yukimura explained.

"For the rest of your stay here, you shall remain under his care—given that you do not find anything unsatisfactory, which, I find, will be highly unlikely. I shall take you to your rooms, where your luggage has already been delivered. You're quite lucky—a single room with your own bath."

Ryoma smirked. "The perks of being an international star, Yukimura-san. I'm pretty sure you are well-acquainted with them."

"I like you already, nyanko-chan," grinned Yukimura.

Sniffing haughtily, Ryoma turned away. "Sorry; I'm not fond of dolphins."

"Aww! That's the second time I've been turned down today!" Yukimura pouted. But then he brightened again almost instantly. "But wait—a dolphin? I've always considered myself as an otter, but I guess it's only fair to let nyanko-chan name me."

The violin prodigy twitched his upturned mouth back into a scowl—knowing full well that he had lost this battle—and turned to the folder before him. "And this is?"

"You will need to sign the first paper—it's the Dormitory Residency Agreement. The rest are just stuff that will hopefully prove helpful to you," the cellist explained patiently as Ryoma reached for the offered pen and started signing. "Campus maps, people you should know, places you should go, dormitory rules and schedules, school rules—you know. The usual stuff. You'll be fine as long as you don't steal or destroy anything."

Soon enough, they were on the way to the dormitories, and Yukimura was animatedly chatting about the different perks and quirks of the school he would now be spending months in. The cellist had pointed out that Ryoma would be obliged to audition for the orchestra, and he would surely be named as one of the concours' contenders. There would be tough competition, it seemed, but Yukimura sounded confident enough that he would get in, which abated Ryoma's concern.

As soon as they reached Ryoma's door—B303 was on the third floor, accessible through the dormitory's main corridor—he released a breath of relief. Privacy and rest at last! He felt for his poor cat, confined inside his cage inside the room, unfed for almost an entire day already.

"Well, here we are," Yukimura smiled, handing him his keys. "The door to your right is Fuji-kun's. He's very good company. Personally, he counts as one of my favorite people on campus. Just be careful around his brother, his cacti, and his photos—he can get stingy about them, you see. The one to your left is—you're in luck—Tezuka-kun's. Now don't be sneaking into his room at night, okay?"

Indignantly, Ryoma turned beet red. "W-Why would I—?!" he sputtered hopelessly.

"Aww, how cute," Yukimura cooed, star-eyed. "The wonders of love at first sight…" A dreamy sigh followed.

Twitch. "I-I'll be retiring now, Yukimura-san." Twitch. "Thank you for your help. I appreciate it." Twitch.

Ryoma turned his back on the giggling Yukimura, and opened the door to his new room.

"Oh, and before I forget, Ryoma-kun?" Yukimura chimed, using his name properly for once. "I'd like to have your autograph."

Ryoma froze.

"Uhh…"

"I could give you mine as a trade," prodded Yukimura, poking Ryoma on the shoulder.

To say the least, Ryoma did not know whether to disbelieve or to simply be flattered. Was_the_ Yukimura Seiichi asking for _his_ autograph?! "R-Really? I-I mean…"

"If my memory does not fail me," Yukimura began, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You attended last year's conference in Berlin." He beamed. "How about I sign your shirt and you sign mine? Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

"U-Umm… alright, I guess…"

"Great! I'll pick you up for dinner later! Go ahead and sleep; you must be jet-lagged!" Yukimura sauntered away. "See you later, nyanko-chan!"

Twitch.

"I told you not to _call_ me that, for fuck's sake…"

-

* * *

-

The first half of his first morning he spent wandering through the halls and memorizing landmarks to help him make his way around the place without losing his way. It _was_ quite an impressive campus. He'd meandered through the courtyards after picking up a modest sandwich and a can of Ponta from the expansive café, and then made his way through the Recreation Park.

He'd decided to memorize the campus first before checking out the ensemble rooms and practice chambers; the Performance Hall was _huge._ Of course, he'd been to bigger halls, but he hadn't expected to find such a big one here. The Administration Building was by far the most boring place; adorned with nothing but lobbies, meeting rooms, and offices, it was chock full of rubbish Ryoma didn't even want to bother with.

This continued well until eleven, when he realized he'd spent far too much time wandering around.

Ryoma stifled a yawn as he trudged through the corridors of the Ensemble Building. The entire building was full of nothing but practice rooms, special ensemble rooms, soundproofed recording rooms and the like. There was another separate building for lecture classes, and another separate building for special events. The Performance Hall was a single building on its own. This building, thankfully enough, was near the three Dormitories; he gathered that students liked practicing a lot.

Rubbing his eye, he grumbled. Getting far too little sleep really did undo him. And it was all Yukimura's fault.

"_Konbanwa (5), nyanko-chan! Come on, get dressed; we're going out for dinner! It's a date!" _

Ryoma grimaced at the memory.

As promised, Yukimura did stop by the previous night and took him out to dinner. Of course, the cellist just _had_ to turn up when Ryoma was blissfully busy _sleeping!_ It had thrown off his entire sleeping pattern, _plus_ it had deprived him of fitful sleep! (The rest of the night was spent agonizing about his aching head—Yukimura had apparently conveniently forgotten that Ryoma was a minor and insisted on some strong wine.)

Thankfully, Ryoma was quite well-versed with morning-after hangovers; he'd dealt with his father far too many times _not_ to be. The fresh air actually helped.

He walked into the Ensemble Building and looked around for any signs; he wanted to find the String Ensemble as quickly as possible and get to Tezuka Kunimitsu. Unfortunately, he hadn't been blessed with the opportunity of meeting his new roommate as of yet.

Spotting a directory further down the corridor, he strode forward, only to be knocked backwards by some clumsy body walking into him.

"Ah, pardon me."

A scowl etched on his face, Ryoma's head snapped up, a scathing reprimand at the tip of his tongue—

"If you'll excuse me; I have a meeting I have to get to."

—only to have the words wither and die a premature death.

The hurried figure darted through the swinging double doors and out of the building, brown hair ruffling in the passing breeze. It was as if the heavy-looking bag and the thick binder in his arms weighed as light as a feather with the way he sprinted through the courtyard.

Ryoma stood frozen in the middle of an empty corridor, eyes wide in surprise.

_I just bumped into Tezuka Kunimitsu._

Fallen was a small brown notebook lying by his feet; the back label read 'Property of Tezuka Kunimitsu'.

_I just bumped into Tezuka Kunimitsu._

He slowly bent and picked up the notebook.

_I just bumped into Tezuka Kunimitsu._

_-_

_-_

_-_

_And I can't believe he just_ ignored_ me!_

* * *

**To Be Continued**  
_(Revised Version)_

* * *

**Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria**  
_First Draft: 12.17.07  
Uploaded:__12.17.07  
Last Revised: 01.04.08_


	3. Op 02: Scherzando

**Concerto**  
Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimer applies.

**Important Note:** For those who are not returning readers of the Twins, you guys might not know that we are predominantly yaoi / shounen-ai writers and do not write het (male/female) stories unless under special circumstances / exceptions (i.e. Sakura/Syaoran, Eriol/Yuuko, and such). Kia-chan used to write het, but soon was inevitably influenced by yaoi. As such, **this story is a YAOI story** and will include **male / male** relationships. Possibly EXPLICIT relationships. We just thought a warning was good.

**Chapter Warning(s): **Prepare for CRACK, people, CRACK!!! XDXD And (abuse of) some colorful language. XDXD And extensive abuse of caps.

* * *

**SONATA  
Op. 02: Scherzando**

* * *

**- **

**(1) otouto** – Term that means "younger brother". Passes for both formal and informal.

**(2) **The monosyllabic phrase "Aa" (which is pronounced as "ahh") actually means "yes" in informal Japanese.

**(3) kaichou** – Honorific suffix attached to the name of someone who acts as a student council head. (Also applies for company presidents and CEOs.)

**(4) Kawaii ne**! – "How cute!"

**(5) aibou** – Term that means "partner". It is on a more affectionate level, considering the prefix "ai", which literally means "love".

**(6) nigirizushi** – Sushi made by squeezing rice into bite-sized pieces and topping them with ornate seafood. This is the type of sushi Kawamura makes in the anime, and is commonly served in sushi bars. However, it is also considered the most difficult type of sushi to make.

**(7) miso** – Soup that is commonly served with rice, or with anything fried, or after sushi.

**(8) konzertmeister** – German term that literally translates to "concertmaster". This is the person who leads the entire string section of the orchestra — as well as the orchestra in a whole itself, works hand in hand with the conductor (this person is considered as the conductor's right hand), and is in charge of tuning before a performance. This person is required to be the most skilled musician in the section, good at learning music quickly and leading the rest of the string section with accordance to the conductor. The concertmaster plays the violin solos in any given orchestral piece except in concertos, where soloists would be playing the leading part, otherwise known as the melody.

-

* * *

-

"That settles it, then," nodded Yukimura as he traversed the busy hallways with Fuji at his side. It was the first day of the spring term; students were teeming from every nook and cranny of the prestigious school. Eyes were glued to the two of them — it was, after all, no secret that he and Fuji were considered elite within campus, along with a number of other respected and well-known figures. "We will have to talk to the board about the preparations; we're not really changing anything, are we?"

"No, none so far," shrugged Fuji. "The only thing that's new will be that student you are talking about." The tensai smiled. "I can't wait to meet him."

"You're_ neighbors, _Fuji-kun," Yukimura laughed. Nearby, a group of girls swooned. "You can just randomly knock on his door on a free afternoon and invite him for a snack, or something."

"I think I'll do just that," nodded Fuji, chuckling as they made their way into the courtyards. Pulling his scarf tight around his neck, he turned and said to Yukimura, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow at the meeting, Yukimura-kun."

Yukimura nodded as they parted ways. "See you tomorrow, Fuji-kun."

He watched as Fuji headed for the Ensemble Building, stopping to decide where he should go first. After a few still moments of pondering, he shrugged and headed for Dorm II. His eagerness to pester his newest favorite specimen was far too overpowering to resist; then again, it wasn't like he _wanted_ to resist. Picking up his stride, he whisked his way through the courtyard, ignoring the curious glances trailing his form. They could stare all they want — he could care less.

It did not take long before he was standing in front of room B303, knocking on the closed door.

"Ryoma-chan?" he called, only to be answered by silence.

Gently, he eased the sliding door open and made a mental note to remind Ryoma to lock up after leaving his room. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, smiling as a ball of fur greeted him with a purr.

"Hello, Karupin," he cooed, gathering the cat into his arms and heading for the bed. He sat himself and started snuggling with the affectionate animal. "Where's our beloved little prince?"

"Mreow," crooned the cat.

"Ah, I see," nodded Yukimura. "Well, shall I keep you company while you wait for him to return?"

"Mreow!"

"Okay!" Yukimura brightly chirped, placing Karupin beside a pillow and moving towards the small kitchen across the room. "What do you want for your snack, Karu-chan? I'm making myself some tea."

-

* * *

-

Glare.

_How dare he._

Stomp.

_How dare he._

Growl.

_How dare he._

Scowl.

"Get out of my way."

Students scampered to clear the hallway as he passed, a dark cloud hovering over his countenance. He knew that most of them might recognize him with one look – this was, after all, a music university. If anything, the name _Echizen Ryoma_ should be familiar within the walls of this school.

But right now, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He stalked into the dormitory building, dully aware of the steady ache in his left hand. He'd spent the better part of the afternoon abusing Ravel and his violin, drawing his frustration through endless carpal tunnel-inducing trills. This was the only way he could comfort himself – barring Karupin and chocolate, of course – given that his father was not there for him, Kevin was a thousand miles away from him to whine to, and Ryoga was just as far away for him to abuse.

Throwing the door open, he stepped into his room. However, as soon as he looked up, a groan was ripped out of his throat. Seated on his cushioned desk chair was Yukimura sipping tea, with a happily purring Karupin rested on the cellist's lap.

"What in the bloody seven hells are you—" (Yukimura offered him his trademark smile.)

Scowl.

"You know what?" he grumbled, throwing himself on the bed. The violin case lay forgotten at the foot of the bed. "Never mind."

Yukimura frowned, concerned. He edged the swiveling wheeled chair towards the bed and hovered at Ryoma's feet. "What's wrong?"

Scowl. "Nothing." Sulk. "Go away."

The cellist edged closer. "Aww, come on, nyanko-chan," he cooed, that infuriatingly kind smile**™** plastered over his face. "Tell Sei-chi what's wrong."

"Nothing." SCOWL. "Go. Away!"

Yukimura stood and lifted Karupin with him, taking a paw and nudging Ryoma's cheek with it. "Tell Sei-chi what's wrong, nyanko-chan."

Ryoma turned, swatted, and snapped, "Stop using Karupin against me!" Pause. "And _don't call me that_!"

Pouting, Yukimura sniffled. "Aww, but Sei-chi and Karupin want to know what's making nyanko-chan pout!" he wheedled. "Don't we, Karu-Karu?"

Karupin mewled and looked up at Ryoma with wide, imploring kitty eyes. "Mreoooooooooowr."

Faced with those begging eyes, the swatting hand froze. Ryoma's eyebrow ticked. "I'm _not_ POUTING!" he snapped. He turned and glared balefully at the cat. "Karupin, you traitor."

"Fine. You're not pouting; you're _sulkin—_"

"I'm NOT!" Ryoma snarled. "Drop it! Just. Just drop it." Scowl. Scowl. Scowl.

Silence.

A sigh. "Fine," shrugged Yukimura, dismayed. He set Karupin down on the floor. "So did you find what you were looking for? How's the school so far?"

Twitch.

Yukimura turned back towards the desk, where his cup of tea sat and steamed innocently. Picking it up and taking a sip, he continued, "Usually you can run into Tezuka-kun inside the Ensemble Building, no matter how busy he might be. He always roams around that general area, as if he can't be separated from his music for too long. Did you, by any chance, run into him today?"

Twitch.

Yukimura prodded. "Well?"

Ryoma gently pushed himself off the bed with both arms, sitting up but keeping his head low and his eyes covered. Yukimura sat back against the cushioned desk chair, a smile curved on his lips in anticipation.

"…THE NERVE OF HIM!"

Yukimura beamed.

"HOW** DARE** HE IGNORE ME? HE WAS THE ONE WHO RAN INTO ME — AND YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID?" Ryoma roared.

"What?"

"HE_ IGNORED _ME!**ME!**" yelled the young virtuoso, shooting to his feet and wildly swinging his arms about as he paced restlessly. "THE CHILD GENIUS SON OF _THE_ ECHIZEN NANJIROH AND _THE_ ECHIZEN-YAMADA RINKO!" As if to placate him, Yukimura offers a nod. "He **offers **me a **half-hearted** apology, and he **turns his bloody back on me and just LEAVES!**"

Pursing his lips, Yukimura politely nodded along and listened faithfully as a model friend should. He sipped on his tea, repressing the urge to burst into laughter. This was honestly too much; it was as if Ryoma was channeling Atobe Keigo even though they have yet to meet face to face.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH HIM? EVEN IF HE DOESN'T KNOW ME — which I _seriously_ doubt, since he most _certainly_ is well acquainted with the European crowd — AS DORM HEAD, HE SHOULD BE A HELL OF A LOT MORE COURTEOUS THAN THIS! He **shoved** into me and HE JUST IGNORED ME, THE BLOODY WANKER!"

Yukimura doubted Ryoma was aware that he was ranting half in English and half in Japanese. The teen, pacing back and forth across the room, was evidently frustrated — that this young man was besotted with Tezuka would be hard for even the world's worst fool to miss.

He opened his mouth and was about to remark on something when the phone beside him on the desk rang loudly.

Stomping over, Ryoma grumbled and jabbed a finger at the loudspeaker button. "What?!"

"Oi, Ryoma!" yelled the deep, velvety voice across the line. "What the bloody hell are you doing in Japan, you brat?! Get your scrawny arse back here; you _know_ we promised the studio we'd do a family recording!"

"Bugger off, you wanker!" Ryoma yelled right back. "I'm on an important business here! And we can just do the recording here — bloody hell, Ryoga, can't you have just called _tomorrow_? For fuck's sake! As if my day isn't already ruined _enough_!"

Ryoga, however, ignored him, and exclaimed, "Holy — Ryoma, this isn't what I think it is, is it? YOU FOUND A GIRL IN JAPAN, DIDN'T YOU?!"

"Wha — I did not —"

"WHO IS IT?! Introduce me!!" shrieked the elder Echizen over the line. "You have to introduce me!! I'm your brother — brothers tell each other things like this, right?!"

In the background, Ryoma could faintly hear Nanjiroh chortling merrily. "A girl? Ryoma? Impossible."

"Shut up, you lecher!!"

"Ooooooooooh!" Ryoga cooed. Ryoma could just imagine the starry eyes. "My otouto (1) is growing uuup!!"

"Are?" Yukimura said, an expression of faint wonder on his porcelain face. "Ryoma, who's that?"

"My—"

"OH MY GOD – YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND!" screeched Ryoga.

"NO, DAMNIT – THAT'S MY FRIEND!"

"WHO HAPPENS TO BE A BOY!"

"YES – BUT –"

The voice's projection over the line changed, as if the person was leaning away from the phone. "KEVIIIIIIIIN! RYOMA GOT ROPED BY A BLOKE!"

A crash echoed in the background.

"HE'S GOT A BOYFRIEND?!"

"NO!! That's not—"

"RYOMA!!" roared a lighter, younger voice through the line. There was a noisy scuffle over the line, as if hands were grappling over the receiver. "That's not fucking fair!! You never tell me ANYTHING!"

Ryoma could just see the lips pouting and hear the feet stomping.

"Bloody – he's _NOT_ my boyfriend!!"

"Yes, he is!" cackled Ryoga from somewhere behind Kevin. "Yes, he so is!!"

Yukimura, as if hell bent on making things worse, chose that moment to intervene. He smiled and said, "I'm Yukimura Seiichi. Pleased to meet you!"

"Yukimura!" Kevin yelped. "He said Yukimura!"

In the background, Ryoma could hear his mother squeal loudly in delight; Rinko was an avid fan of Yukimura Yuui, and had long since hoped she would meet the famous cellist. This was often a point of argument between her and the jealous Nanjiroh (who would never admit he was jealous, but was nonetheless).

"Thank you for looking after my troublesome brother!" Ryoga bid gaily.

"HOW MANY BLOODY TIMES DO I HAVE TO BLOODY TELL YOU THAT HE IS **NOT** MY BLOODY BOYFRIEND?!" roared Ryoma.

A knock on the door.

He whirled around and stalked towards the door, throwing it open and snarling, "_Now what?!_"

"Mreowr!" Karupin mewed from his perch within a taller someone's arms.

"Karu—"

For the second time that day, his words withered and died a premature death in his throat.

"—pin…"

"Ara, Tezuka-kun! How nice of you to drop in!" Yukimura blithely chirped, as if the world was jolly good and everything was as it should be (which was not the case for poor, abused Ryoma). "I'm sorry about all the noise; we were just having a very… _enthusiastic_ conversation."

"No, it's fine; the rooms are soundproofed anyway," Tezuka said, carefully depositing Karupin into Ryoma's arms. "I just saw the cat outside – I figured I should notify the owner before he got lost," he explained, with a glance towards a beet red Ryoma, who simply bowed in part gratitude and part apology.

However, on the other side of the line, Ryoga seemed to be intent on ruining his younger brother's day.

"Oi, Ryoma – is that another voice?! Oh my GOD, you have TWO boyfriends?!" exclaimed Ryoga.

Tezuka stared. "…ahh…" (2)

"…that's a yes? OH MY GOD. BLOODY HELL. KEVIN! HE'S GOT TWO! TWO!!"

"RYOMA, HOW DARE YOU?! YOU'RE POLYGAMOUS NOW? AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN TELL ME YOU WERE GAY!!" Kevin's dulcet tones scratched through the line. Karupin yelped and flattened his ears against his skull, scampering out of a frozen Ryoma's arms and ducking under the bed.

Seeing Ryoma's incoherent state, Yukimura picked up the conversation and said, "That is Tezuka Kunimitsu-kun." And as if this was not enough, he added, "He lives right next to Ryoma-kun."

Silence.

"NO!!" Ryoga screeched. "RYOMA!! YOUR — YOUR _VIRTUE_!!"

-

* * *

-

A scowl was etched seemingly permanently on Ryoma's face when they exited the room, leaving a snoozing Karupin safely tucked into bed. It had taken approximately thirty minutes to get Ryoga and Kevin to both shut their flapping orifices, and another thirty to un-freeze Ryoma into a somewhat sociable mood. Of course, it was Yukimura who had done all the work; Tezuka did nothing but sit and pet Karupin, watching them docilely.

However, from the merry mood the cellist was in, it was apparent that he did not mind in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to have enjoyed the entire ordeal as much as Ryoma had loathed it.

"So, nyanko-chan, what do you want for dinner?" cooed Yukimura, throwing an arm around the smaller set of shoulders.

Ryoma's eyebrow ticked at the nickname, but he ignored it. "Anything Eastern."

"This way, then," Yukimura said, that infuriatingly kind smile**™**_ still_ plastered over his deceitfully angelic face. "The school cafeteria serves great Chinese food. I think Fuji-kun is going to be there tonight with Momoshiro-kun and the rest of the Dorm II bunch, right, Tezuka-kun?"

Tezuka nodded. "Kawamura-san will bring sushi in celebration of the start of the new term."

"Ah, perfect! Then we can pitch in a small welcoming party for nyanko-chan!" he smiled, reaching over and poking Ryoma in the cheek. "You honestly need to lighten up more, Ryoma-chan."

The violinist mumbled darkly under his breath, upset about the entire day's disaster. First, Tezuka ignored him. Then Yukimura broke into his room. Then Karupin betrayed him. Then Ryoga and Kevin called and had the gall to accuse him of being in Japan because he had a_ boyfriend._ And _then_ he shouted at Tezuka! (Seriously; it had to be the worst first impression ever!)

And he had the severely depressing feeling that the day wasn't over just yet.

They walked into the cafeteria, and he was pleased to find that there were few people around. He honestly was not up for more trouble right now; having to come along and socialize was bad enough.

"Normally, students like to go and eat out with friends on the first night," Yukimura explained. "Which is why we have a lot of hangover-plagued students the following morning for the first day of class." Yukimura chuckled, the edges of his eyes crinkling. "You should hear them attempt Bizet and Chopin under the influence, nyanko-chan. You'll wish you were born without ears!"

Ryoma didn't know whether he should be impressed or appalled.

"Ahh! Oishi, look, look! It's Yukimura-kaichou and Tezuka-kaichou (3)!" a redhead exclaimed, raising the attention of the entire cafeteria. He jumped up and down in his seat, flailing like an eager little child waiting for a Christmas gift.

"Eiji!" Oishi reprimanded, tugging on the redhead's sleeve. "Behave!"

The redhead pouted at his seatmate, but relented nonetheless. However, that didn't stop him from waving gaily at Yukimura and Tezuka, beckoning and gesturing towards the sushi (which, incidentally, was rapidly disappearing, courtesy of two figures Ryoma would later know as Momoshiro and Kaidoh).

Hands on firm shoulders, Yukimura steered a scowling Ryoma towards the rowdy bunch, while Kawamura pulled another table to accommodate the three of them. "Guys, this is Echizen Ryoma. He's new to the college this semester, and will most likely be joining the concours next month."

A chorus of dissimilar greetings met Ryoma: the redhead was grinning brightly as if meeting him was the best thing in the world; the guy called Oishi politely bowed with Kawamura; the other two gobbling up the sushi merely grunted in passing; a bespectacled young man at the far end of the table mumbled something while writing in a green notebook.

_These are my dorm mates for the rest of the term? __F__ucking hell._

However, there was one who stood out blaringly within the group, as if he didn't belong there at all. Ryoma peered down at the brown-haired young man sitting right across him. No – this person was someone who would fit better with Yukimura and Tezuka than the rest of the carefree bunch he was currently forced to socialize with.

"We finally meet, Echizen-kun," the young man smiled. A familiar velvety shiver ran down his back; that smile was far too similar to Yukimura's smile. Far too similar. "I'm Fuji Syuusuke. An absolute pleasure to meet you."

A small smirk curved at the edge of Ryoma's lip. So _this_ was Fuji Syuusuke. He could now see why Yukimura spoke so highly of the person.

"Pleasure's mine," he replied coolly, inclining his head in a polite bow.

"Fuji-kun is one of our best on campus," Yukimura informed him. "Like you, he plays the violin. You two live right next to each other; maybe you should play a duet one time. I'd even pitch in for accompaniment if you want."

Ryoma simply grumbled, still marginally upset at the cellist.

"Kawaii ne! (4)" Fuji cooed, an infuriatingly kind smile**™** curving over his face.

"Ne!" Yukimura echoed, the same infuriatingly kind smile™ painted on _his_ face.

Ryoma scowled. "What are you, twins?" he asked grouchily. The comment earned his ears twin laughter echoing pure delight.

"Saa," shrugged Fuji. "Maybe we are!"

Yukimura added, "We've been asked that time and time again."

"In any case," Fuji continued, shifting in his seat. "This here is Kaidoh-kun, and this is Momoshiro-kun. They are both sophomores," he introduced. "And then that's Kawamura-kun – he brought the sushi for us from his father's shop. The scary man wearing the glasses and holding a green notebook over there is Inui-kun, and he's a junior like me and Tezuka and Yukimura-kun."

"Scary man?" Inui quoted. He pushed his glasses higher up his nose and smiled. "Why, thank you, Fuji."

"You're welcome," Fuji beamed right back.

Ryoma inwardly face faulted, but failed to say anything as the redhead leaned over the table and grabbed him in a bearhug. "Hi!! I'm Kikumaru Eiji, but you can call me Eiji-senpai! I play the trumpet, and I'm also in the orchestra! Let's be good friends, ne, o-chi-bi-chan!" he all but shrieked into Ryoma's ringing ears.

"P-Pleased to—"

"And this here," the redhead eagerly babbled, still not releasing Ryoma from the bearhug (which was more of a headlock than anything else). "This is my aibou (5) Oishi Shuichiro! He's _really_ really kind, so if you need anything, you go to him! He'll get you_ whatever_ you want!"

"E-Eiji!" sputtered the flattered Oishi, prying Eiji's arms away from the choking Ryoma. "_Behave!_"

"Aww, but Oishi!" pouted the redhead, releasing Ryoma obediently nonetheless. "Ochibi-chan is so cute!"

Ryoma scowled darkly. What was it with these people and nicknames? He hadn't even passed two full days in Japan and he already had _two_ nicknames?

_For the love of music, this is grating on my nerves._

Willing himself not to give into the urge and settle for viciously stabbing his meticulously prepared nigirizushi (6), he sighed and surrendered under the happy chatter.

"You will get used to it after a while," chuckled a deep voice from beside him.

_I can't believe I forgot._

Ryoma sat straight in his seat, making sure he was observing proper table manners. It wouldn't do any good if another impression was destroyed. This was Tezuka Kunimitsu; this was the sole reason he was in Japan. "They're not that bad. I've had worse," he said casually, rolling his shoulders into a shrug. The words spilled from his mouth so easily he was surprised.

"I do believe you will be taking those words back once you meet the entire crew," the elder musician quipped.

"…this isn't all of them?"

"Most definitely not," Tezuka answered with a somewhat rueful smile, as if he _wished_ this was the entire crew. "I am, however, thankful that they are the only ones I am directly responsible for."

"Imagine how horrifying it would all be if you were responsible for _Atobe_," giggled Fuji from across the table, and was met with a grimace on Tezuka's part.

"No, thanks," he said. "Having to deal with him and his fan club during the Piano Ensemble meetings is enough."

Over the selection of seafood, Ryoma's hand froze.

"The fact that he keeps on instigating competition does not help either," pointed out Tezuka, eyes closed and forehead crumpled as if in incurable pain. (Later on, this instance would be recognized as the first time Atobe Keigo would pique Echizen Ryoma's ever-eluding but unwavering interest. After all, if he was capable of making _the_ Tezuka Kunimitsu – who was practically a deity in Ryoma's eyes – grimace in such pain, then this Atobe Keigo person was definitely worthy of his time. Or so he thought.)

"Well, you can't blame him, Tezuka-kun," chirped Yukimura, his hand gently brushing Ryoma's frozen one. "He and you – the two of you are our best pianists on campus."

"…pianist?" echoed Ryoma.

Within a split-second, Fuji's and Yukimura's eyes connected over the table, and within another split-second, Fuji understood. A smile crawled upon the tensai's face.

"Pianist!" echoed Eiji over the din. "You should hear Tezuka-kaichou play, ochibi! He's like a god! He so definitely whips Atobe's butt!"

"Whips Atobe's butt!" Momoshiro allowed a grunt of agreement in between inhaling the sushi. Kaidoh nodded vigorously.

"And, and, and, and!" Eiji eagerly bounced. In the back of Ryoma's mind, he couldn't help but wonder if Eiji was plugged to an electric outlet, or if he habitually ingested a sack full of sugar every thirty minutes. There seemed to be no end to the energy the redhead was channeling. "And you should see Tezuka-kaichou perform with the rest of the Piano Ensemble! The last spring term's ten-piano concert was _amazing_!"

The incessant chattering never ceased as Ryoma floated off into his own thoughts. Faintly was he aware that his hand was mechanically feeding food into his mouth. If he was jostled by Eiji, he didn't really notice.

_Piano._

He settled his chopsticks atop his finished bowl of miso soup (7).

_He plays the __**piano.**_

Gently, he pushed himself off his seat and bowed politely. "Please excuse me. I forgot I needed to go and meet with Ryuuzaki-sensei about an issue with my transfer papers." He turned towards Kawamura, bowed, and said, "The meal was excellent, Kawamura-san. Thank you."

Without a single glance towards either Yukimura or Tezuka, he turned his back on them and swept out of the cafeteria.

_**He doesn't play the violin.**_

_**-**_

* * *

_**-**_

"Yes, Ryoma," Ryuuzaki nodded patiently, lacing her fingers together as she placed has clasped hands on her lap. "Tezuka does not play the violin. Not anymore."

Ryoma stood in silence.

"Due to an elbow injury attained during the last term of his second year in Senior High, he stopped pursuing violin, lest he lose the remaining functionality of his arm," Ryuuzaki explained. It was as if she was once more talking to an irrational eight year old Ryoma. "Instead, he turned to an instrument that required less stress on his elbows – something that would not require quite as much stress as the violin does. Of course, none would be better suited for him than the piano."

"And you saw fit not to tell me this before I came here," Ryoma began in a deathly whisper.

Ryuuzaki knew what was coming; she'd seen enough of the Echizen screaming fits™ that they became quite the lackluster after a few. After all, she _had_ been the teacher – heaven knew how she survived those years – of the _original_ Echizen legend. She was bound to be immune after extended exposure.

"If he's not playing the violin anymore," Ryoma growled. "THEN WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL AM I DOING WASTING MY VALUABLE TIME IN JAPAN?!"

Eyebrows shot up. "Whoa. Bad day, Ryoma? I've never heard you scream like that since you were… what, six? Seven? I think that was when Rinko refused to buy you that crystal violin you were spying when you toured in Milan."

But the violin prodigy ignored her.

"If he's no longer playing violin, then what the _fuck_ am I supposed to be doing here?!" he snarled, flailing his arms about. Ryuuzaki suppressed the urge to laugh with practiced ease, and listened to the rant with practiced patience. It wasn't that horrible, really; it just needed a little getting used to. "Fucking hell, I should be back in Europe, bagging countless medals for international tourneys!" The prodigy kicked against the table. "And I _can't_ believe he just gave up on violin like that. _How could he?!_ He should have waited for me!! ME!!"

Ryuuzaki, of course, knew better than to point out the fact that back then, he and Tezuka had yet to meet each other in person.

"That's it, that's it!" roared Ryoma. He faced Ryuuzaki with a stony face. "I'm going back to London!"

Ryuuzaki's eyebrows, if possible, went higher. "Not so hasty, young man!" she chuckled. "Are you sure you want to leave just like that? Yukimura-kun will ask questions."

"Let him ask his life away, damnit!"

"Your mother will scold you real bad," added the elder woman.

"Who do you think you're talking to?! I'm already used to that!"

"Nanjiroh's going to lord this over you for the rest of your life."

"He can stick his head up his arse," grunted Ryoma. "I. Am. Going. BACK."

"Well, Ryoma," Ryuuzaki mischievously smiled. "I don't really have the power to stop you if you want to withdraw from the school. But consider this," she started, leaning forward eagerly and looking a defiant Ryoma in the eye. "If you leave and give up now – well, that's as good as admitting that he – his past self – _still_ is better than you."

If anything, that was a wicked slap in the face.

Having been in a hurry to complain to Ryuuzaki and vent his frustration, he had not really considered the consequences and the implications of his decided actions. Indeed, if he _did_ leave just like this without even trying to coax the other into even just _one_ showdown, it would be a loss for him and a default win for Tezuka.

"Fuck."

Damned if he was going to let that happen.

Smiling up at Ryoma, Ryuuzaki could see the scorching determination burning well and alive within the prodigy. The sheer passion lit up those golden eyes like jewels under sunlight.

"_Seeing a battle through to the finish; holding the head high at the end be it win or lose; _that_ is what a true Echizen is. You must remember that, because, Ryoma,_giving up_ does not – and will _never_ – exist in our vocabulary."_

"Fine then, baba."

_Watch me, Tezuka Kunimitsu. Watch me._

Ryoma stepped back, eyes burning.

_If you won't remember on your own, then I will make you. _

"Watch me."

_I will make you remember the violin's melody._

"Watch me uproot your entire orchestra. Watch me as I step all over the best of your best; watch me as I flatten your prized konzertmeister (8)." He smiled grimly. "I will stay, Ryuuzaki-sensei, but if I stay, then things will have to change."

-

-

-

_I won't let you give up so easily, Tezuka. I am an Echizen, after all; giving up is not in my vocabulary._

-

-

-

Cloaked within the slanting shadows cast by the pale moonlight filtering through the hallway windows was a figure pressed against the wall, right beside a door that was slightly ajar.

Glasses glinted.

"Ii data."

* * *

**To Be Continued**  
_(R__evised Version)_

* * *

**Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria**  
_First Draft: 21 Dec 2007  
Uploaded: 22 Dec 2007  
Last Revised: 21 Dec 2007_


	4. Op 03: Agitato

**Concerto**  
Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer(s):** Standard disclaimer applies.

**Chapter Warning(s):** None so far.

_Happy New Year Pillar fans, POT fans, other readers (…and other insignificant others (read: Rea who keeps trying to impose Thrill on us)…)! It was very hard to yank Kia off her distractions and since Kia gets her will to write from re-marathon-ing the POT anime, you can see that we had a slight problem._

_Anyway, without further ado…_

* * *

**SONATA  
Op. 03: ****Agitato**

* * *

**- **

**(1) Ohayou!** – "Good morning!"

**(2) kouhai** – Refers to younger subordinates; if Yukimura is Ryoma's senpai, then Ryoma is Yukimura's kouhai. Based on year level, commonly used in schools and at work.

**(3) oyaji** – Literally translates to "old man", Japanese slang for "dad".

**(4) Arigato**. – "Thank you."

-

* * *

-

When a gentle knock came behind Fuji, he could not help but inwardly narrow his eyes at that looming feeling gathering and growing within him. One could not blame him if he ever felt annoyed; this feeling, after all, had been gnawing at his insides for almost an entire week.

But then again, he was Fuji Syuusuke. He loved the unknown, for unknowns brought about challenges, and challenges were called challenges for a reason—they were not boring.

So instead of frowning in annoyance, he beamed in glee.

"Ara, Inui," he chirped brightly, as if it was eight in the cheerful morning and not thirty-eight minutes past midnight. "What brings you to my humble abode?" Swerving in his seat, he watched Inui carefully close the door behind him and move into the lamp lit room.

Most people would be scampering away in fear at the… _eager_ look—for there was no other non-derogatory word to describe that look—painted over Inui's visage. But of course, 'most people' were not 'Fuji Syuusuke'.

So he smiled _just_ as eagerly. "Ooooh, that's a really scary look you have, Inui."

Glasses glinted.

"I have some interesting new data you will certainly be taken with."

-

* * *

-

It was an overcast morning.

_Fuck__, why am I staying here again?! _

Karupin cowered under a chair as Ryoma stormed about his morning routine—which was calling for some major changes due to the inconveniences his new and completely foreign dorm room was bringing—with a scowl on his face. (Personally, he reasoned it was okay for him to scowl all day long for it did not mar his face unlike how it did with other faces; quite the opposite effect was made. He_ was_ unique, after all.)

_I want my old bed. I want my bathtub. I want my desk._

Grappling with his rebellious sweater, he could not help but growl aggressively as he remembered the previous night's discussion. This was all Ryuuzaki's fault. Now he was stuck here in Japan with but vague goals to point him in the right direction. Oh, how his father must be laughing…

_Bloody hell, I WANT TO GO BACK TO LONDON!_

He was already running late; Karupin had neglected his duty of waking him up via the old-fashioned way: face licking. Anyone who knew Echizen Ryoma's sleeping habits would know that alarm clocks faced a hard job ahead of them within his hands. He couldn't help but wonder often if he was born with some sort of deficiency that made him fail to register the incessant beeping noise somewhere nearby when he was sleeping, but his mother had convinced him that he was born a healthy baby and that everybody else had the same problems with an alarm clock; he just somehow had it a bit worse.

And thus, Karupin was left cowering under the chair after a still annoyed Echizen Ryoma had exploded upon finding that he woke up far too late.

After he'd tamed the rebellious monster of a sweater, he sighed and picked up the piece of paper that was his schedule. According to what he and Ryuuzaki had discussed prior to his arrival in Japan, he was taking up the normal freshmen courses to blend in with the crowd. Music Literature, Musicianship I, History of Western Music, and a couple of ensembles that included the orchestra; there really was nothing new. The real challenge would be getting into the orchestra—that he would take care of later.

With a huff, he grabbed his messenger bag and stalked out of the door.

The entire day would take no effort at all.

(Well, maybe except for the part where he would try not to get lost.)

And thus, Karupin was left cowering under the chair.

-

* * *

-

It was a sunny, cheerful morning.

_What a positively wonderful day._

Anyone who had the (mis)fortune to pass by him received the full blast of his smile. Of course, those who knew him in the least would know that this was a foreboding; it was time to run, seek shelter, and hope against hope that the storm would pass as quick as it would come.

"Ohayou! (1)" he trilled as he stepped into the one of the bigger ensemble rooms, where more than half of the string section of the orchestra was already present.

"My, we seem cheerful today, Fuji-kun," Yukimura smiled from where he was tuning his cello. "I gather something good is coming our way?"

"Oh, most definitely," Fuji chirped.

It was, however, only Yukimura who remained undaunted by the tensai's abnormally chirpy mood—even Dorm II's Oshitari Yuushi, otherwise immune to most people (they all just _knew_ he owed it to experience with handling Atobe, the King of Mood Swings (read: PMS King)), was mildly apprehensive.

That smile was _just_ a notch too bright.

"Do you have time later, Yukimura-kun?" Fuji inquired happily as he set down his violin case and started shuffling about in the stack of papers he carried with him. "I'm positive I have some… _stuff_ you will be taken with."

"Of course, of course," nodded Yukimura eagerly. "Let us get a snack after break, shall we? If this makes you this much happy, Fuji-kun, then I'm sure this is very much worth my time."

Fuji merely beamed at him and turned to the rest of the people inside the room (who were, of course, cringing and inching as far away from him as the room would let them get). "Alright, then. This is our first meeting for the year, guys. Let's make sure no one has gotten rusty over the vacation, shall we?"

The entire class groaned.

-

* * *

-

It was barely ten minutes ago that a bemused and completely clueless Yukimura was dragged out of a Literature class, past the frothing and indignant professor and a class full of gawking onlookers. The mildly harassed (but curious) cellist found himself standing in the middle of an unused practice room, uncased cello and sheet music in hand.

He turned towards the younger teen standing in front of him with a questioning look on his face. "Is there any reason we are here when I should be in my class, nyanko-chan?"

"Your grades won't mind one class absence," grunted Ryoma, shoving towards him the cello's bow. Yukimura failed to point out that today was the _first_ day of class, and that it would most definitely affect his grades, for he would miss vital information regarding future activities he would need to know about. "You're playing with me."

Yukimura's eyebrows rose. "With you? A duet, you mean?"

"What else?" the grumpy freshman grumbled.

Yukimura watched as Ryoma methodically spread the music sheets on a stand and moved to retrieve his violin from the case. As the swooping perfect eyebrows came together in a vicious scowl, understanding dawned on Yukimura. He chuckled.

_Ah. So it's that._

The cellist opened his mouth to remark on Ryoma's dark mood, but the prodigy merely glared at him. "Hurry up and get your cello ready," he barked as if he was talking to someone his own age. Yukimura was a respectable three and a half years older than Ryoma, but obviously the violinist was not someone who bothered with ages and formality. On hindsight, Yukimura thought absently as he sat himself, that actually made sense. Ryoma _did_ grow up in Europe, after all.

As his bow hovered over his cello's strings, his eyes met Ryoma's.

_A fire burning this fiercely… Tezuka, what is this you have made?_

From then, there was no need for words; there was only music.

Higher notes fluttered over the lower, creating a perfect symbiotic harmony—a harmony that Yukimura eagerly hunted for in his counterparts. The only person—the one and only single violinist—who managed to match him beat per beat was Fuji Syuusuke. Being the best cellist of the university, he was used to setting the pace for his duets.

Never would he have thought that someone else other than Fuji—and a_ kouhai _(2), at that—would ever set the pace for him.

As the notes sped up, however, his lips twitched into a slight frown.

_Something is __off._

He looked up at Ryoma, who had his eyes closed. Fingers masterfully slid up and down the fingerboard, missing neither a single note nor a single beat. Here was a prodigy made to hold the violin and make music. Here was a master musician who knew his notes and his rhythm and his melody. The dynamics, the harmony—flawless.

There were no words.

A tilt of the wrist, a flick of a finger, the carefully measured pressure over the strings, the smooth and flawless sliding of the bow; it was perfection. Truthfully, Echizen Ryoma _himself_ was a work of art. He had to hand it to Echizen Nanjiroh to have made a genius such as the one standing in front of him.

There were no words.

_But something is __off__. There's—_

Yukimura's eyebrows shot up.

—_did he just slip on a note?_

There was a furious scowl on Ryoma's face, and his hands were furiously working on the music. To a normal musician, the music would be beautiful, but to Yukimura's ears, he could hear several misses.

Ryoma was playing aggressively.

_Far_ too aggressively.

"Oi," Ryoma snapped. Yukimura's eyes met his. "Why did you stop?" he grunted in annoyance, removing his bow.

Cocking his head sideways, Yukimura frowned. "You know, Ryoma-chan, if you're upset about something, you can always tell me. I'll try my best to help."

"I'm not upset," snapped Ryoma, placing his violin away and sinking into the only other chair inside the room. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "I'm not upset."

"Yes you are," Yukimura mumbled, reaching over and petting Ryoma's head. "Stop trying to convince yourself otherwise and just let it all out. Bottling it up is bad for your health."

There was undisturbed silence for a few minutes as Yukimura continued petting Ryoma.

"You should really sign up for the concours, you know," the cellist remarked absently. "You can play _Passacaille after Handel_ with me in a duet without prior practice; that in itself is a pretty big stunt."

"S'nothing," mumbled Ryoma, nudging against the petting hand. "You're probably better than me."

"If you're depreciating yourself like this, then you're most definitely upset," Yukimura chuckled. "_The_ Echizen Ryoma, admitting somebody else is _better_ than him? Not possible." He withdrew his hand. "Care to tell me what this one is about?"

"Oh, nothing much," grumbled Ryoma. "I just pretty much lost my direction right now. I don't even know if I still have enough of a reason to stay in Japan."

"Ah. Tezuka-kun's instrument of choice," Yukimura nodded. "It was quite an extensive injury to his elbow."

Ryoma's head snapped up. "Can he really not play the violin anymore? Is it really impossible for him to pick up the violin again? Was the damage_ that_ bad?" A multitude of questions spilled unbidden from his lips, and almost immediately, he pursed them shut. A furious blush spread over his face.

Giggling, Yukimura said, "You really _are_ smitten. Hard."

Scowl.

"I personally do not know much detail about his injuries," Yukimura admitted. "I only know that it was extensive enough to force him off violin—the instrument he so prized and loved. Once I met him in the inter-school concours the year before he was injured. It was quite a performance he pulled off. He won that year's gold medal. I could see that he loved playing the violin, and I can only imagine how painful it must have been to put it down."

Ryoma frowned. "I want him to play again. Can't he be cured? It can't be _that_ serious if he's still playing the piano."

The cellist beside him merely smiled.

_You're in for a tough battle, Ryoma._

"Saa, saa!" exclaimed Yukimura, standing up and pulling Ryoma with him. "Enough sulking. Let's play one more piece. This time, I don't want you murdering the music, okay? And you missed a no—"

"Yukimura-kun?" came a muffled voice from outside the thick soundproof double-glass door. Fuji's smiling face came into view. He pulled the door open and invited himself in. "Ara, Echizen-kun too. Practicing?"

Yukimura smiled. "Nyanko-chan wanted to play and vent."

Maybe it was the smile on Fuji's face, or maybe it was the tinkle within that laugh—Ryoma could see Fuji was in a very good mood today, and it was as if the day was irrevocably brighter for Fuji when their eyes met. He inwardly frowned. Did it have something to do with him? As far as he knew, he was barely introduced to Fuji. All he knew was that they were neighbors, and that Fuji had certain Yukimura-ish tendencies. (The latter in itself was enough to convince him that it was a bad idea to get too close.)

"Ah, yes! Echizen-kun, I insist you go and sign up for the orchestra as well!" Fuji trilled. "It would be a _thrill_ to work with you for this spring's showcase!"

Ryoma snapped out of his reverie. "Work with me?"

Similar smiles flitted over Yukimura and Fuji's faces. "Fuji-kun is in the orchestra as well."

Ryoma backed off at those smiles. "Ah, right."

-

* * *

-

That was it.

He would _never_ ever play with Yukimura Seiichi _ever_ again!

_My fingers hurt! My neck hurts! My back hurts! Who knew that guy was such a perfectionist? And that Fuji—he didn't help any! They're demons, I tell you—a pair of smiling demons!!_

Stomping and grumbling his way into the dormitory, he scowled. There were more people milling around tonight since it was the second night, but the vacation's drone was still firmly lodged within the students' brains. His scowl etched deeper. This was why he hated dormitories; even though he didn't have to directly share his personal space, there were _still_ far too many people around. He cursed his father for not letting him stay with some relatives they had somewhere in suburban Tokyo. For all he knew, that old man was just delighting in his pain!

He threw his door open with a grunt. Almost automatically, he dropped his violin case by a cushion nearby and fell onto the bed dead tired and completely exhausted. This was almost as worse as standing with his mom while on a shopping spree.

_Silence._

He sighed against his pillow, cherishing the darkness and the cold. Being alone was his forte. Ever since childhood, he wasn't much of a social butterfly. He had friends, but they were 'friends' friends. (Well, except for Kevin, who somehow managed to crawl away under his skin.)

_Silence._

"_Silence is blessed; for only with silence could ears listen to music. Without silence, music is but noise."_ This was something he had learned early on in life; one of the lessons personally handed down by Nanjiroh. Hours and countless hours of lessons had drilled the ability to command silence into his mind. Command silence with his music. They would all gape in awe.

…_but there is too much silence._

"Karupin?" he called out to the dark, silent room.

No reply.

"Karupin!" he called out again, louder and more insistent.

Silence.

He pushed himself off his bed. "Karupin!" His cat was a smart cat; it was not three days after he first had Karupin that the cat recognized his own name. But there was no reply.

The silence that greeted his ears was as forbidding as the wintry cold air whipping against his face. His eyes widened, and a single mortified gasp escaped.

He'd left the balcony door wide open.

-

* * *

-

As a boy, Ryoma was nothing like his father. Detached and apathetic to almost anything thrust into his face, the boy cared for nothing but music. Music, after all, was in his blood. He had a sense most musicians could only dream of attaining and a knack for reading music that even scholars and experts struggled to match. He was a genius, young and blooming.

He was a genius, but he was lonely.

Unlike Ryoga, who was hyper-social and literally had the entire ten-block neighborhood periphery as his playground, Ryoma stuck to either the music room or the backyard, listening to countless records while reading or practicing music. In a way, Ryoma inherited the dominant part of his personality from his mother, who was, at times, introverted and quiet. (Of course, he _still_ had the Echizen genes; he _was_ Nanjiroh's son, after all.)

One would understand why it was such a shock when Ryoma came home late one afternoon with a little spotted Himalayan kitten nestled safely into his arms, dripping wet and shivering under the cold rain. Rinko had no chance of being able to refuse the eyes with which Ryoma pleaded they adopt the poor kitten. And even though the family already had a pet dog (courtesy of Ryoga and Nanjiroh), they were all forced to acquiesce to the young Ryoma's request.

Thus began Ryoma's practically indestructible bond with Karupin.

Nanjiroh often swore that Ryoma was adapting cat genes, what with the uncanny bond they had. The Echizen patriarch even tried once to admit Ryoma into a psychiatric ward to make sure he was not mentally disturbed—he'd caught Ryoma having a proper two-way conversation with Karupin (who was, much to a nine-year-old Ryoma's entertainment, replying quite enthusiastically).

There was only ever one instance that Karupin got lost, and that was when Ryoma had insisted stubbornly on bringing him aboard the luxury cruise ship he would have to perform in. The entire show was postponed an hour and the entire ship was practically turned inside out by the whole crew in order to find the missing Himalayan cat. It led to the entire crew hating the young boy for causing such trouble. Regardless of the commotion, however, he still won (and was quite smug about it).

That time, Nanjiroh and Rinko were both present to calm the distressed Ryoma.

But this time, no one was around.

_Where would he go? Where would he go?_

Ryoma dashed through the hallways of the ensemble building, eyes flitting back and forth in search of his precious cat. He had been searching frantically for probably over an hour by now; he saw no sign of the cat whatsoever. Cursing the campus' extensive grounds, he resisted the urge to whimper.

He didn't even want to imagine if something happened to his pet.

_A high place. A cat would go to a high place. The courtyard trees? _

Taking the steps two at a time, Ryoma scaled the fourth and fifth floors, scanning the straight hallways still dotted with the occasional student. He reached the rooftop and checked, but he could still not see Karupin.

Dashing back down the stairs, he made his way back towards the courtyards—

"Oof!"

"Oh! Sorry—Ryoma-chan?"

At that particular moment, he tried to deny the fact that a wave of relief washed through his entire being. The familiar voice was a comfort to his troubled mind, but come hell or high water, he would not admit that aloud.

Especially not in front of Tezuka and Yukimura.

"What's wrong, Ryoma-chan? I thought you said you wanted a catnap before dinnertime?" the ever-gentle Yukimura asked. Hands helped him back up.

"Karupin."

"Karupin?" echoed Fuji, who came up behind Tezuka from a nearby room with several folders in his arms and his violin case in hand. He tilted his head to one side. "Who's Karupin?"

"His cat," Tezuka explained, frowning.

Ryoma looked up at Yukimura with wild golden eyes. "Karupin is missing."

Silence.

"…how long has he been missing?" Tezuka asked gently. Ryoma's eyes snapped up to meet his, and at that moment, his resolve buckled. He knew that he should be scolding the young violinist for his irresponsibility, but how could he, with those imploringly quivering golden eyes staring back up at him?

Ryoma agitatedly wrung his wrists and shuffled in his spot. His eyes flicked back and forth, side to side, as if hoping that a sign would appear somewhere and point him to his cat. "I don't know—I've been searching for about an hour now, but—"

"Shush," Yukimura murmured, encasing Ryoma in a hug. The prodigy didn't even bother pushing away from it as he would normally do. "Shush. We will find him, don't worry. Come on. We'll help you search."

-

* * *

-

"In the end, we still didn't find the poor kitty," Fuji sighed, tugging on his woolen jacket to shield himself from the drafty cold of the dormitory hallway. "Where could it be? It's far too cold outside for it to be sitting up in a tree somewhere…"

Following behind Fuji, Tezuka simply sighed. He caught Yukimura's form sitting beside a snoozing Ryoma tucked in under thick blankets and surrounded by pillows brought in by the cellist. Gently, he closed the door.

"Yukimura-kun's attached to him," Fuji remarked. "Very attached."

"Aa," Tezuka nodded.

"Kirihara will be _very_ mad and _very_ jealous," Fuji giggled. "And I'll be anticipating how Yukimura-kun will deal with it." The tensai none short of sauntered towards his room, a noticeably eager bounce in his steps. "Echizen Ryoma certainly brings welcome surprises to the school, don't you think, Tezuka?"

And with a single flash of his infuriatingly kind smile™, he bid Tezuka goodnight.

Silence.

Tezuka heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. If anything, he knew better than anyone that once Fuji's interest was piqued, there would be no stopping the tensai. Not until the curiosity either abated or was satisfied. And being Fuji's friend since middle school, he knew better than to interfere. Fuji was every bit a sadist as Oishi was every bit a worrywart after all.

He didn't know, however, if he agreed with Fuji on one point.

_Echizen Ryoma. Certainly, he has talent. But is he good enough? I have yet to see him perform in person. Until then, I will have to put off my judgment of him. I have to grasp his capability first before I approve of his entry into the orchestra, despite whatever Fuji might say._

It did not take him ten minutes to return to the Administration Building to resume his postponed work. He did not even know why he agreed to help search for the cat in the first place. There was so much work to be done—he would once again be deprived of proper sleep tonight. He didn't even want to know how Yukimura had so much time on his hands despite the fact that they had just about the same workload as Dorm Heads.

As soon as he was seated comfortably with a mug of steaming coffee beside him, he refocused completely on his work. He definitely did not need to hear Atobe harping incessantly about how unreliable and erroneous his work was, and thus could not afford to make mistakes.

-

* * *

-

It was well past midnight already, and yet Ryoma could not bring himself to sleep. His entire body seemed disinclined to let him rest—his eyes would not close long enough for darkness to come in and engulf him, his nerves kept his fingers twitching in agitation and worry. His pride, just about the size of Australia, was berating him for being such a child, but he could not help it—he was far too worried.

_Karupin… where are you?_

Thus, he ended up wandering the halls of the school, a specter of the night with eyes slowly scanning back and forth for any telltale sign of his missing pet. He would not be getting any sleep tonight, but that was fine; he would probably be missing his classes for tomorrow, but that was fine too. Hell, he really did not care much for the classes. He would ace them irregardless; they were nothing but formalities anyway.

There were things far more pressing and important at hand.

_I have to find Karupin._

Doubtless Yukimura would scold him tomorrow morning, but if he found Karupin, it would all be worth it. (He did not even know when Yukimura had officially turned into his caretaker, but the cellist certainly was not complaining any. Ryoma twitched; it was the complete opposite. Yukimura seemed to be having the time of his life playing babysitter.)

He decided the courtyard trees were a good place to search, and he stepped out into the dappled moonlight, pulling his coat tightly around himself. The cold was harshly forbidding; he hated to imagine how his poor cat would fare with this chill. It seemed to seep right into the bone.

Eyes darting back and forth, back and forth, he scanned the tree branches—no Karupin.

Sighing, he watched his breath fog. "Karupin… where are—"

His steps halted, and his eyes narrowed. Something was moving in one of the first floor rooms in the nearby Administration Building.

_A light…? This late into the night? …I guess the Japanese really _are_ workaholics. _

He wandered towards the building's general direction, his feet unknowingly taking him forward.

…_I wonder if oyaji_ (3)_ is lying about being Japanese._

_-_

* * *

_-_

He was halfway through reviewing the structure of Grieg's _Papillon_ when he first felt it, that faint prickle on the back of his neck. His senses were keen and had a sensitivity to them that was quite unnatural among common people. Most of the time, this came to his advantage, but there were also a few times when they presented quite the challenge.

For example, the keener his senses were the more potential distractions he could pick up. This was the most common disadvantage he encountered. Keeping concentration was challenging while being distracted by nature itself. (It was quite annoying that no matter how skillful he was at driving away the _human_ distractions—of which Atobe Keigo, Fuji Syuusuke, and Inui Sadaharu made prime examples—he was helpless against the _natural _ones.)

He sighed.

Settling his pen down, he swerved his seat around.

"Mreow."

Tezuka stared.

The cat's fur was slightly wet, and the tail was slightly twitching. Crouched low to the ground and faintly shivering from the cold, it stared up at Tezuka.

And Tezuka stared back.

Those eyes, Tezuka noted, were faintly familiar. His reading light mingled with the moonlight streaming into the windows and provided ample illumination for him to properly see. Those eyes were rimmed with a ring of clear sky blue, and the center was a startlingly deep azure that tugged him in and refused to let go.

Looking closely, the cat was very… pretty.

A straight little brown-furred nose, gracefully swerving kitty ears, and a gracefully sloping immaculate jaw—

_Echizen Ryoma._

The cat stared back up at Tezuka, silent.

_Those eyes, I've seen them before._

As Tezuka stared back down at the cat, he could not help but noticed the light quiver in those beautiful blue eyes, a quiver that seemed so familiar Tezuka could not help but blink.

_I've seen them before, but they weren't blue._

Karupin, as if he was a scientist satisfied with the observation's conclusions, leaned on his front paws and grinned a catty grin.

_Those eyes—they were golden._

"Mreow!"

-

* * *

-

_What am I doing?_

Ryoma wandered the faintly lit halls aimlessly. His feet seemed to know where he was heading, but as far as he knew, he has yet to see this part of the Administration Building. He was well-known for sleepwalking—(there was this one instance where he'd slept in a single-floor camping cottage and woke up in the neighboring tree house situated 20 meters up a tall tree)—but he was pretty sure that he was wide awake.

_I should be searching for Karupin. But I don't know where to—_

"Mreow!"

He stopped.

There was a faint rustling sound.

"Mreoow!"

Stumbling over his own feet, he hurried down the hall to search for the source of the sound. His wounded and whining pride aside, he was very happy. He knew that kitty voice by heart. It didn't take long; there was a lowly lit room nearby, where a faint scurrying shadow could be seen.

He burst into the room. "Karu—"

…_again?_

"—pin…"

Suffice to say, the scene Ryoma walked in was quite befuddling.

There was Karupin, all fluffed up fur and catty grin, happily prancing about with a cat toy tucked between his paws. And then there was—he bit his lip—Tezuka, crouched down on the floor with his now empty hand outstretched.

Silence.

Slowly, Tezuka stood from the floor with a sigh, adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose. Had it been anyone else, it would have seemed as if the respected dorm head was unconcerned that he had just been found playing happily with a cat. There was no blush, no stutters, and no jerky movements to indicate uncertainty.

His composure and control was admirable.

However, this was Echizen Ryoma, and not 'anyone else'.

Ryoma smirked. "Mada mada da ne, Tezuka-kaichou."

He crouched low and picked Karupin up, carding his fingers through the soft, dry, and pleasantly warmed up fur. He nuzzled the cat's head affectionately with his nose, a relieved smile on his face. At that moment there was nothing more pleasant than the precious cat's delighted purr when Ryoma pulled it close.

In the end, it was Tezuka who returned Karupin.

Ryoma glanced up at Tezuka.

"…arigato." (4)

Eyes widened.

Tezuka's senses were keen and sensitive, naturally so. His eyes caught the warm fire within those eyes of gold, the gentle sloping eyebrows that relaxed in relief, the soft and pliant lips curving in a truly grateful smile.

The very edges of his lips lifted.

"Aa."

-

-

-

_I seem to have gained another distraction._

* * *

**To Be Continued**  
_(R__evised Version)_

* * *

I just finished watching the angstiest Pillar moment in the anime. So beware of possible upcoming angst, in here on in another story. Damnit, Tezuka, why, oh WHY, did you have to slap Ryoma?! 

**Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria**  
_First Draft: 07 Jan 2008  
Uploaded__: 07 Jan 2008  
Last Revised: 16 Jan 2008  
_


	5. Op 04: Capo

**Concerto**  
Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer(s):** Standard disclaimer applies. Also, we rightfully deny any claim over L'Arc en Ciel and their songs. We are merely borrowing them; all rights reserved.

**Chapter Warning(s):** None so far.

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** **For those who want to hear the music that inspires Concerto, we have taken the trouble to put them up for download**. Ranging from classical pieces to modern acoustic pop and rock, we are inspired by a myriad of artists: Beethoven and Mozart and Scarlatti, Filipino bands Hale and Callalily and SpongeCola, Japanese artists Hyde and Utada Hikaru and Angela Aki, contemporary composer Yiruma, Korean balladeer Sung Si-Kyung, Irish acoustic pop band The Corrs, Finnish singer Ville Valo (HIM)—music inspires no matter where from. **The link to the public folder "Music of Concerto" where you can download it from is on our profile. **Files are hosted on MediaFire.

Oh, and for those who are interested, **the tango pair music is up on the download site too.** As in the music that binds Atobe Keigo and Sanada Genichirou. It's entitled _Libertango_ by Astor Piazzolla, and I upped Yo-Yo Ma's rendition of it. It's awesome.

And for those who are smut-deprived: I have written a one-shot TezuRyo smutfic, which is on LiveJournal. Public access, so no worries. And I suggest you download the sound clip that accompanies it. Sinnatious made the clip, and the download link is at the beginning of the fic.

* * *

**SONATA  
Op. 04: ****Capo**

* * *

**- **

**(1) senpai-tachi** – Plural form of "senpai", which means "senior".

**(2) bento – **A lunch box.

**(3) Yadda! **– A very childish and pouty way of saying "No!".

**(4) chichiue** – A formal title that means "father". (Otou-san and oyaji mean the same thing but differ in formality.)

**(5)** We shall be using songs by the Japanese rock band L'Arc en Ciel. We shall occasionally throw in lyrics, but mostly they shall only be mentioned by title. Again, all of the songs we mention here will be uploaded into the Music of Concerto folder, so yes, the L'Arc tracks we mention will be up there too.

-

* * *

-

Without knowing what for, Ryoma was walking towards the Ensemble Building's First Conference Room. The scowl on his face was fierce enough to scare away most of the population, but unfortunately, 'most of the population' did not include a certain smiling cellist tagging behind him.

"Cheer up, nyanko-chan!" trilled Yukimura, prancing happily on Ryoma's side. "The day is bright, Karupin is all fluffed up and happy, your family is visiting in a few weeks, and you managed to get yourself on Tezuka's good side!"

At the last tidbit, Ryoma flushed. "I-I'm not r-really—"

"You know, I really do think you intrigue him," Yukimura thoughtfully added as they made their way out of the courtyards and into the Ensemble Building. He tapped his chin with a dainty finger. Ryoma absently noticed that Yukimura once again was missing his cello. He'd yet to see Yukimura actually _carrying_ a cello, though he _had_ seen the cellist's cello before. He found it somewhat strange. "I've never seen him watch anyone else as closely as he watches you. Too bad I already have my own protégé. If I didn't, I'd be eyeing you to be mine."

Ryoma's eye twitched. "For some reason, that sounds so wrong."

"Whaaaat?" Yukimura pouted. "You don't want to be my protégé?"

"I don't like dolphins," Ryoma flatly said.

Sniffling with mock hurt, Yukimura turned away and grabbed the Conference Room's door handle. "How stingy."

For the past two weeks, Ryoma endured the weirdness of Tokyo Ondai (otherwise known as The Zoo) and its resident students (otherwise known as The Animals on Display). Frankly speaking, he was impressed with himself. He really did not expect that he would last past a week in a place full of beings with mentalities (if they even had such a thing; he wouldn't be surprised if their brains were so small it'd be incapable of forming coherent thought) differing drastically from his own. (He liked to keep his associations within the human race, thank you very much.)

However, as Yukimura had so tactlessly pointed out, the force that kept him nailed down within the strange and otherworldly university was one name, one person. He would never admit it out loud, for it would tarnish his precious moon-high pride, but yes, Yukimura was right. It was Tezuka Kunimitsu—the one person whom he was aiming for—that kept him from bolting out of Japan and darting back into the foggy comfort of his beloved London.

As it was, he had somehow managed to work out the basics after staying two weeks inside the campus. If there was anything he didn't understand: ask Yukimura. If there was anything he wanted: ask Yukimura. If there was anything he wanted to do that he would not be able to without outside help: ask Yukimura. If he wanted to walk Karupin: ask Yukimura. If he wanted a headache: ask Yukimura.

Yes, life was very simple and primitively straightforward inside the campus (which was fitting for the residents, in his very humble and generous opinion), and for this, Echizen Ryoma was content.

And frankly speaking, he could have afforded to continue ignoring the downsides of this utter simplicity if Yukimura had not dragged him out of his hidey hole today.

"O-hayou!" Yukimura sang as he pushed the door open, as if it was not eight in the brilliantly blizzard-ridden Friday morning.

Ryoma's sharp eyes ran over the faces inside the room—it was most definitely a zoo. The Dorm II group sat around a table of their own. There was a sharp-eyed student by one corner that caught his eye; the young man faintly looked like Fuji. There was another dark-haired student that seemed hell bent on glaring him out of the room—_­_he wondered what the hell he'd done to incur the wrath of the tiny little curly-haired puppy. There were several others: the bespectacled handsome student with slightly long hair by the wall, another sprawled sleeping over one of the conference tables, a red-haired cake monster-being gobbling up slice after slice of strawberry cake… he sighed.

_A zoo._

Yukimura's presence was commanding enough that the entire room turned towards them, and the multitude of eyes immediately caught sight of the benevolent and blinding grin™ on the said cellist's face, a grin that was positively ten times brighter than the sun.

The entire room cringed.

"Ohayou, Yukimura-kun!" chirped a similarly bright voice behind them. Fuji came in after them with his violin and a slim volume on Vivaldi's pieces in hand. "Echizen-kun too! My, what a positively happy day."

"Isn't it just, Fuji-kun?" crooned Yukimura. He turned his eyes towards the rest of the room. "It looks like everyone is present today. I take it the list is together, Renji?" he quipped, and the tall man beside Inui promptly handed him a folder.

"Tezuka, Shiraishi-san, and Tachibana-san aren't down yet," Inui followed up.

"They'll be down in a minute. You know how busy things can get." Fuji smiled and took Ryoma by the shoulders. "Ah yes, everyone, this is Echizen Ryoma. He will be joining us in this semester's Intra School Concour. He was late for the freshman orientation and didn't manage to join us until later. Now, he is a year younger than the freshmen and as proper senpai-tachi (1) I know you all are, I expect you to take very good care of him, okay? Or else," he gave a pause to think before displaying his own benevolent and blinding grin™ at full blast. "Well, Yukimura-kun will explain to you _in detail_ what he will do if that happens, ne Yukimura-kun?"

Yukimura flashed them all an infuriatingly kind smile™. "Nee."

The effect was instantaneous.

"H-Hai!"

"Wait a second," barked Ryoma, heaving his violin case onto a nearby table and upsetting Momoshiro's bento (2) in the process. "Exactly what _is_ this little gathering of yours?" he prodded Yukimura's arm sharply, ignoring the prickling in the back of his neck. That nameless dark-haired man-boy seemed to glare even harder. "A concour? I don't remember signing up for one!"

"Well, of course you won't, nyanko-chan," Yukimura soothingly said with an infuriatingly kind smile™. "I was the one who signed you up."

"Yadda (3)!" came the immediate reply.

The crowd gasped.

"Ochibi snubbed Yukimura-kaichou!" a not-so-hushed whisper came from a certain corner of the room.

Ryoma scowled. "Firstly, I have no intention of joining any such competition of yours. Secondly, I am _not_ allowed to participate in competitions without the permission of my mother—my _manager_. Thirdly, how the hell did you sign me up without _me_ signing the papers?!"

"Oh, well, Ryoma-chan, you won't be able to take part in the First Chamber Orchestra without participating in the concour," pointed out Yukimura. The smile never left his face.

Ryoma froze.

Tokyo Ondai's famed Chamber Orchestra. The very orchestra that _the_ Tezuka Kunimitsu was currently signed under, the most prestigious orchestra of the college, and the orchestra that has bagged award after award during National competitions—it represented the single reason he was staying in Japan: the opportunity to work together with Tezuka. Only that way would he be able to measure his skills against the elder musician.

"Also, I have already confirmed with Rinko-baa-san about your participation," chirped Yukimura. "Oh, she's such a nice lady! Agreed so readily! 'Take care of my precious Ryoma for me,' she said!"

There was no other fitting expression.

Ryoma placed his face against his palm. _One mention of Yukimura Yuui, and mother is goo. Heavens above, why must you torture me so?_

"Oh, and the third one—you should really change your signature, Ryoma-chan. It's too easy to forge."

Yukimura beamed.

"Game and match to Yukimura," came a chuckle from the far front of the classroom. Eyes turned. "You never really lose to anyone, do you?"

"Chitose-kun," the cellist smiled. "How was Kyushu?"

"Same," shrugged the long-haired tall man. "Not that it ever changes." His eyes turned towards Ryoma, who glared back defiantly with a scowl. "So this young one is the entire campus' new buzz? Doesn't he look a bit too young?"

"Ochibi is one year younger than the rest of the first years!" chirped Eiji. He reached over, grabbed one of Ryoma's cheeks, and pulled.

"Hey—oww—E-Eiji-senpai—oww—"

"Eiji, stop that!" Oishi reprimanded.

"Oh, but ochibi's so cuuuuute!"

"Eiji," Fuji lightly reprimanded, and Eiji obediently let go. Ryoma nursed his sore cheek, cursing under his breath in harsh German. "In any case, Echizen-kun, even if Yukimura-kun had not signed you up, the university would still have placed you as a wild card candidate. Having someone as famous as you compete within the concour, after all, will attract the media. It'll all be a publicity stunt anyway."

"Let's just hope you're not just all publicity."

Ryoma's golden eyes swerved to meet dark pools of onyx burning with something akin to… jealousy? This was the dark-haired student that has been glaring at his back this entire time. He would later find out that this person's name was Kirihara Akaya.

A waspish dismissal was on the tip of Ryoma's tongue when the double doors swung open once more to reveal Tezuka. Trailing beside him was a very commanding dark-haired student with a strange dot on his forehead at his right side Ryoma recognized as the well-known Tachibana ("The non-fat Buddha," Ryoma inwardly commented) and a light-haired nonchalant third year on his left that Ryoma did not know. Noise erupted as chairs scraped against the floor. The entire room had rearranged itself in the span of a mere split-second.

Tezuka's eyes caught Ryoma's briefly, before turning to the rest on Fuji and Yukimura. "Is everyone present?"

"As far as the current list goes, yes," nodded Fuji with a smile. Yukimura wordlessly took Ryoma's shoulders and guided him to the nearest empty table. Obediently—for Tezuka was here to see—Ryoma sat. Yukimura and Fuji immediately sat on either side of him, as if they were older brothers securing the safety of their youngest. Ryoma knew, of course, that it was the complete opposite.

_Somebody kill me now._

The rest of his morning was spent as thus, sitting in between twin smiling demons and trying his best to keep himself listening to Tezuka. It was not an easy feat, considering the glances that were thrown his way, the glare that was fixed on the side of his head from Kirihara, and the giggles both twin demons tried their hardest to suppress under their infuriatingly kind smiles™. He could only guess what was amusing them so; maybe it was the fact that he was suffering under their hands? Yes, that was the most probable answer.

He sighed.

The intra-school concour, it turned out, was a way for the university's professors to be able to choose who would be eligible to join the _real_ inter-school concour. It was also a strict requirement that for students to be able to even _audition _for the Chamber Orchestra, they would have to have participated at least once within the intra-school concours. Considering how hard it was to even get recognition to just participate in the intra-schools, Ryoma could ascertain that the Chamber Orchestra's members were all quite talented.

"The Chamber is a relatively small group," Fuji quipped out of the blue. Ryoma almost jumped out of his seat. "The Symphonies are recognizably larger. But of course, that's to be expected, what with the high expectations the university places on its students. Only a select few can catch up."

"So am I safe to assume that all of the people in this room are members of the Chamber?" grunted Ryoma.

"All of us except you and my little brother Yuuta," nodded Fuji. "The rest of the freshmen were chosen at the orientation camp and Yuuta just transferred from Tokyo Geidai this semester."

Ryoma raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that one of the rival schools?"

Yukimura smiled, "Yuuta-kun considers his older brother a rival, Ryoma-chan; thus he entered a different university. However, since he is in a different university, the competitions within which he can measure his skills against his brother are limited."

"Hmmm…"

Ryoma's eyes wandered back towards Tezuka, who was lapsing past the rules of the concour and was now explaining the rest of the mechanics. He found that he did not really need to listen; it was just like any other concour. Time passed surprisingly quickly, and soon enough, he found himself being ushered out of the room. The meeting was finished; it was as simple as that.

Despite his annoyance, he kept beside Yukimura as they moved out of the room. Better to have someone to fend the people off for him. He grumbled darkly, tugging Yukimura towards the general direction of the practice rooms. He needed to vent.

"I hate you, you know," he hissed venomously. Yukimura merely smiled. "Now I need to find a pianist to accompany me. And I don't even know a single soul within this campus who _plays_ well enough!"

"Hmm…" Yukimura thoughtfully frowned, pausing. "Well, we can't ask Tezuka even if he's not joining, since he's helping with the organization."

Ryoma froze in his steps. "…he's not joining?"

Yukimura blankly stared at him for a second, and then voiced in epiphany, "Oh, I forgot to tell you! Tezuka-kun, along with a few others, does not need to join the intra-school this year. They are already guaranteed posts on the inter-school competitions, so instead of joining, they will be helping out with the procedures. I am guaranteed a post as well, but I decided I would still join for fun."

The young violinist cursed darkly.

"Don't you worry, Echizen-kun," came another voice from behind him. He turned and glared when he saw Fuji approaching. "When you join the Chamber Orchestra, you'll have plenty of opportunities to work with Tezuka. But for now, try and focus on the concour. It'd be bad for your reputation if you perform below the expectations, you know."

Ryoma scowled. "I don't even know where to start looking for a pianist."

The smile never faltered on Fuji's face. "If that's what you're worried about, I have someone whom you might consider playing with."

"Eh?"

"Tomorrow afternoon at five, can you meet me downstairs in the lobby?" Fuji continued without pause, as if Ryoma had not spoken at all. "I'll introduce you to him. I promise he is more than capable of accompanying you—_especially _you, Echizen-kun." With that, Fuji swept past him, violin and sheets in hand, towards the recording rooms.

Yukimura smiled. Once again, Ryoma's theory of the existence of telepathy between Fuji and Yukimura was reinforced. "Don't worry, Fuji-kun; he'll be there. I'll make sure of it."

Inwardly, Ryoma groaned as Yukimura started steering him down a different corridor. Would there not be a single day he was left alone with some_ peace_ within this godforsaken zoo?

Ryoma would later think back and realize that he did not start hating his pianist the moment they met. He only started to hate him more; for he had already begun hating him the moment Fuji said these last words before disappearing:

"Oh, yes, Echizen-kun, you need not worry—your pianist rivals Tezuka-kun for the number one spot in the piano department."

-

* * *

-

_You are to be betrothed to her._ The words echoed within the emptiness that took over his entire being, bouncing against invisible walls that kept them from escaping—walls that kept him from relief.He could not begin to describe the horror he felt the moment the words started sinking in. Worse than being kept from his guitar, worse than being forced to bear the burden of inheriting the infernal family business, worse than being caged within the confines of his abomination of a family forever—_he was to be betrothed_.

To some spoiled brat he _did not know._

Had he been one of those ruffians who sat daily in front of the convenience store near his university, he would have already smashed his _beloved_ father's face with the nearest hurl-worthy item within reach (which, in this case, would be his snickering younger brother). And after that, he would proceed to curse his father out of existence and into hell.

But unfortunately, he was not one of those ruffians (and he had never, in his entire life, imagined that he would ever want to be one).

So he kept the mixture of horror and anger and a dash of fear behind a frozen mask.

It was not that he could not find any words to say. Oh, he had things to say. Quite a lot of things, actually. But he knew that not a single word would help his situation right now, and contrary to the entire family's belief, he was not an emotionally-spurred person. In fact, out of all of them, he was probably the least susceptible to emotional persuasion.

"…this is rather sudden, chichiue (4)," he said, his voice a mere notch above a whisper. If his parents knew him well enough—which they didn't, for they were far too busy bothering with their own material lives to care—they would know that now was a proper time to back off and let the young dragon roar its rage to the skies. "I wonder if it would be too much to ask for some time to think about it."

"I have already promised the Tanaka family, Ryuu," barked his father. "You dare disappoint me?"

_Yes, I do_. "I did not intend to anger you, chichiue," he stiffly said. "I understand the situation. Now may I please be excused? I am not willing to let my ranking suffer." _Due to your uncontrollable avarice._

Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply on his heel, threw the office's double oak doors open, and walked out of the room. Jaw set and rigid, he strode to his quarters, struggling to hold back his anger before reaching his safe haven. Who knew which ancient artifact he would be breaking this time around if he did not keep himself in check?

But then again, it was not like anyone else in the big house would care if he broke any of the artifacts. The maids would surely be whispering amongst themselves about his carelessness and rash behavior once again while cleaning up after him, but servants were servants. He could not bring himself to care.

His younger brother would probably snicker and then walk away. His sister would not even notice. His parents would frown, but that was that. It was his elder brother who would try and scold him about irresponsibility. Keyword: _try._ He did not really listen (the heavens knew that his brother had more irresponsibility issues than he did), and his brother would never catch him anyway. He knew the house and the people within it better than the back of his hand; avoiding any single one of the house's residents would be no big deal.

No one really cared for anyone inside the big house. Each and every single one of them only cared for the money and the fame. Nobody really paid attention to the family (if it was still permissible to use that term for such a unit of dysfunction).

And he never really called it home. He had no home. He had a haven—his quarters, located within the North Wing of the house along with the libraries and music chambers (parts of the mansion no one ever visited except for him and the maids). That was it.

His life was nothing extraordinary. It was a complex simplicity. It was an emptiness that filled him up and brimmed over. It was a lifelessness that kept him alive. It was something contradicting, for that was what he was. A contradiction.

_I am the destined heir to the Saionji business empire. I am Tokyo Daigaku's running top student ever since he came into the university. I am the family's genius child—a prodigy always ever-worthy of every praise._

He walked into his room, slammed the doors shut, strode to his bed, and sank into darkness.

_I am Saionji Ryuu._

His uniquely white and almost silvery hair shone under the dappled moonlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one wall of his enormous room. His emerald eyes were tightly screwed shut, as if he was attempting to shut out the rest of the world. Fingers fumbled over his bedside table for the sound system's remote, and with a button, Evanescence's _Imaginary_ was echoing within the walls of his room.

_And I live a dead life._

_- _

* * *

_- _

Much to his delight, the rest of the day was spent lazing around with his favorite new specimen. Echizen Ryoma was a very interesting piece of work, and he could not seem to get enough observation time at all. Which was why his new holy days were weekends. Weekends were the days he could spend with the young violinist without any interruptions threatening to cut into his observation time.

Had he been a psychologist, he would have already started a singular case study focusing on Echizen Ryoma and Echizen Ryoma only. And had he published his work, he was a hundred percent sure that it would sell for good money. Everyone, after all, wanted to know about the violinist child prodigy, the "modern Mozart," as the youth was often dubbed.

But then, he was also sure that everyone would be disappointed. Echizen Ryoma was far from what everyone expected him to be: the perfect gentleman who had an artistic soul, the perfect son who obeyed his parents without a single doubt, the perfect friend who listened and helped, the perfect musician who had no flaws—the imaginary Echizen Ryoma was a person who thrived in perfection.

And the imaginary Echizen Ryoma did not exist.

Ryoma was a rude child. Ryoma did not like being told what to do. Ryoma did not want to obey a single command his father utters. Ryoma was the epitome of anti-social. Ryoma made mistakes and had ugly habits when playing (most of which Yukimura intended to fix).

Ryoma was nowhere near perfect, and that was what made him perfect in Yukimura's eyes.

Echizen Ryoma was like raw ore. Nowhere near perfect when left alone, but could be polished and burnished into a perfect diamond. Echizen Ryoma embodied pure and unadulterated raw talent. It was no wonder both Fuji and Tezuka were interested. Even _he_ was deeply intrigued; there was no use denying it now. And no doubt that _other_ person would be _very_ interested as well.

But that was another story for another time.

He watched as Ryoma silently ate his dessert. They were currently inside the cafeteria (which was blissfully nearly empty and quite silent, for it was the weekend), and some of Dorm II's populace was present with them.

"Do you want more, Ryoma-chan?" he silently asked the younger musician, who looked up and said yes. Of course, he needn't have asked. By now he already knew Ryoma's eating patterns. And his waking patterns, sleeping patterns, daily routine, hobbies, habits, likes and dislikes, and tendencies. If anything, Yukimura was a very thorough observer.

He gave his own slice of exclusive Lindt cake over to the young violinist, who was eagerly feasting on the said dessert. Ryoma, it seemed, had a very formidable sweet tooth. Not as strong as Marui's, but strong enough to empty a normal person's wallet. (It didn't help that his preferred sweets were all brand names from Europe. But then again, Yukimura could afford Ryoma's whims easily, and he was more than happy to provide, so no one complained.)

"…they really?" Momoshiro's voice faded into Yukimura's hearing. He was not really paying attention to the rest of the crowd—he was too busy observing his specimen. But well, it would not hurt to pay some attention to the others once in a while.

"Mou, Momo!" Eiji scolded with a supposed scowl that was actually a mad pout. Yukimura smiled; Eiji was also one of the more interesting people within campus. That mood the redhead carried around with him was infectious, and no one really was fully immune to it. "Be ashamed of yourself! You call yourself a fan but you don't know their schedule?! Shame!!"

Momoshiro grumbled, "Not everyone stalks them like you do, Eiji-senpai."

Thankfully, Eiji ignored the remark (and thus avoided a cat-and-dog fight). Instead, the redhead grabbed his CD player with the portable mini-speaker system, and hit several buttons. An alternative rock song—Yukimura recognized it as one of the songs of an internationally popular band—came on. "This, Momo, is their new single! It's called 'Lost Heaven' (5), and it's their first single sung in Japanese!"

"They can sing in Japanese?" Momoshiro exclaimed in genuine surprise.

"Apparently, the lead singer is part-Japanese, Momo," Fuji explained from Ryoma's other side, nudging the CD cover that had the image of the lead singer—a handsome bespectacled young man with brown eyes, numerous piercing, and moderately long hair—towards Momoshiro. There was a knowing smile on his face, but no one had the guts to ask what was on his mind (except for Yukimura, but the cellist couldn't be bothered).

"I didn't know that!"

"You're incredibly behind, Momo! Shame, sha—"

Eiji paused, glancing over at Ryoma.

Silence descended upon the table, disturbed only by the song that was filtering through Eiji's bright red mini-speakers.

"_How we longed for heaven… we're letting go of something that we never had, time goes so fast, heaven is—_" Ryoma glanced up from his cake, only to find that they were all staring at him in silence. "…what? Do I have cake on my face or something?"

"Ara," Fuji smiled. "You have a very nice voice, Echizen-kun. Maybe you should consider the Vocal Ensemble as well. You and Velvet's lead singer sing almost exactly alike."

Ryoma shrugged, but did not utter a single word in reply.

"Ochibi, are you a fan of Velvet too?" Eiji eagerly asked, bouncing in his seat. In the redhead's opinion, there could never be too many fans. Without waiting for affirmation, he cheered, "I have another fellow fan! Don't you just think they're _awesome_?!"

Ryoma stared blandly at the gushing redhead. Yukimura could practically see the thoughts running through Ryoma's head: _what's so impressive about them?_ A smile formed on the cellist's face.

"I listen to them from time to time," Ryoma offhandedly remarked.

"From time to time?" Yukimura echoed curiously. "You seem awfully familiar to the song's lyrics."

Ryoma chose not to reply to that. Instead, the youth stood and grabbed his violin, excusing himself. "I want to nap." He nodded to the rest of the table and quickly walked off with all intentions of shaking anybody else who would want to pick up on his trail.

_Sadly, nyanko-chan, you are as transparent as glass to my eyes_, Yukimura thought with an inner chuckle. He immediately followed after Ryoma, catching up within a few long strides. "Wait for me, nyanko-chan!"

"Don't call me that!" barked Ryoma as they moved out of the cafeteria and into the courtyard covered pathway that led to the dormitories.

"Ne, Ryoma-chan," Yukimura began as they walked in the winter chill.

"What?" grunted Ryoma.

"Why are you here?" Yukimura asked silently.

"…hah?" Ryoma echoed in confusion. "What do you _mean_ 'why am I here'? I already told you I'm here for Tezuka."

"Is that it?" prodded the cellist.

"Should there by any other reason?" Ryoma shot back, his forehead crumpling into a frown. Yukimura knew that Ryoma must have been wondering why he was being unusually talkative. In his opinion, the answer should have been very obvious.

People became talkative when they wanted to know something.

It was as simple as that.

Yukimura smiled as they entered Dorm II. "Well, I was just thinking maybe you had some other thoughts about coming here. It really is just entirely Tezuka? Are you not thinking about your future, perhaps? Most students who go to university go because they want a future."

"Well, I'm not 'most students'," grunted the apathetic young man. "Why are you asking these questions anyway? And as for my future, I'll still be playing the violin. It's just about the only thing I can do."

"Oh, I don't know," shrugged Yukimura nonchalantly. "They just came up in my mind. See, you're causing a big stir within the campus. People can't help but think why you're here. You could have just attended a European university. Perhaps somewhere in Vienna or Prague. Or you could have gone to the States and went to Julliard's."

"I could ask you the same question, Yukimura," Ryoma said, stopping and turning to face Yukimura as they reached his dorm room's door. "Why are you here, when you could have just continued to study in Vienna with your father?"

"Touché." Yukimura reached around Ryoma and pushed open the door to the room. Immediately, an attention-seeking ball of fur darted from under the bed and into Ryoma's arms. "Don't you think you should let Karupin out once in a while?"

"He'll get lost," Ryoma reasoned. He looked back at the cellist, who was now seated in his swiveling study seat. "Why do you think that Tezuka is not enough of a reason for me to come here? So far he is the best I've seen. And until I overcome him, I'm not going anywhere."

There was palpable silence as Yukimura stared contemplatively back at Ryoma.

Perhaps it was the determination. Perhaps it was the latent potential. Perhaps it was the sheer elegance. Yukimura really didn't know which it was, but there was something there that pulled him to the existence that was Echizen Ryoma. It was more than mysterious, the feeling of being attracted to someone without knowing the reason for the blooming attraction. And he could see that the attraction was not one-sided; Ryoma, subliminally, was attracted to him as well. (The youth just did not know it yet, being far to busy to avoid him and his "bad influences".)

And then he let out an increasingly amused chuckle. He stood and approached Ryoma, who was seated at the edge of the bed with Karupin in arms. Looming over the younger musician, he smiled and took the perfectly angled chin to tilt up the almost entirely feminine face.

"You should be careful, Ryoma-chan," Yukimura spoke in a deep whisper. His blue eyes perceived the slightest widening of those golden cat eyes, and his skin felt the faintest intake of breath into those parted lips. "There are many people who would fight to claim a tasty little morsel like you."

And then just like that, their lips were sealed together in a heated, full-blown kiss. Ryoma's eyes shot open, before fluttering close. Arms wound around broader shoulders, and lips instinctively opened under the onslaught. Yukimura ran his hand down Ryoma's side, and then slipped under his double-layer jacket and started stroking the smooth pale skin hidden underneath.

An unconscious groan came from the back of Ryoma's throat as their tongues slid together in confusion. Yukimura was sucking at his bottom lip, licking his upper lip, caressing his tongue; it was a myriad of sensations, an overload—

The cellist pulled away with a smile.

"Positively delicious." Yukimura licked his lips and slid his thumb over Ryoma's bottom lip. Those golden eyes were glazed over, a mixture of still unregistered surprise, horror, and confusion lying beneath the overwhelming pleasure. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, Ryoma-chan. Thank you for the kiss!"

Pulling away, he took his coat and traipsed out the door with a bouncy little wave and a happy little hum, leaving behind a hazy Ryoma.

Karupin, perplexed at the sudden lack of attention, reached up and batted at his master's cheek.

"Mreow?"

-

* * *

**To Be Continued**  
_(R__evised Version)_

* * *

**Kia Ixari & Aventria**  
_First Draft: 02.08.08  
Uploaded: __02.08.08  
Last Revised:__02.08.08_


	6. Op 05: Cacofonia

**Concerto**  
Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer(s):** Standard disclaimer applies.

**Chapter Warning(s):** None so far.

Err, pardon the purple-y prettiness. (sweatdrop) The strange words are all courtesy of our resident vocabularist (that's another Tria-bulary word), Aventria. They're not my fault, okay?

Oh, and yes, I made a proper download page for the **Music of Concerto** instead of just the folder I have in MediaFire. Now, the link leads to a proper page with proper explanations about the songs and how they're used in the story.

Oh, and random fandom fact: Keigo and Tezuka and Mizuki equals Purple-y Pretty Triumvirate.

**Note:** **Kia-chan has launched a LiveJournal-only story, "The City of the Wind"**. TezuRyo fans might want to check it out. It is an seven-part fantasy AU. You'll like it. **Links and summary are on our profile.**

Also, you might want to know that **a forum is up and ready to receive all of your questions/suggestions/rants **about Concerto or about any other fics we have, whether here or on LiveJournal, ongoing or upcoming. We do have a lot of plotbunnies in pending. Bunny birthing (in other words, transforming a plot into a story) is NOT easy. So pardon the slowness. But we do have a lot. We have a "bunny farm", as Tria calls it, where we constantly pull bunnies from. And right this moment (03.01 Saturday 6.32 AM), as I am typing this, Tria is plotting a crack story with me. So you see how proactive we are.

-

* * *

**SONATA  
Op. 05: ****Cacofonia**

* * *

**-**

There is a particular Circle of Hell not mentioned within Dante's famous book. It is named Yukimura Seiichi, and it is the embodiment of all of mankind's worst sufferings. Ryoma did not know how it felt to be thrown into a lake of fire and burned alive. He also did not know how it felt to be encased up to the neck in ice. He was pretty sure it would hurt a lot. But being forced to accompany a certain smiling demon day after day within this godforsaken zoo he had made his own prison in was surely too hideous for Master Alighieri to document within his _Inferno_.

Right now, Ryoma was nothing short of terribly confused. His mind was scattered all over the place, the stupid concours was demanding time and attention, his brother was nagging him to go back to London and take his boyfriends with him, and he lost Karupin's favorite toy.

That kiss—

Ryoma flushed.

_That goddamned kiss did not help._

His hormones were all over the place, and it was confusing him. Of all things he would have thought of that would trouble him in Japan, he did not ever expect to be faced with—he choked in utter mortification—_love problems?!_

He shook his head.

No, he would not call them love problems.

This was simply double attraction.

One would be inhuman to be able to deny the fact that Yukimura Seiichi was attractive. An effeminate frame and an enigmatic personality—anyone would have been enamored. It was no wonder why the cellist was so famous. He was just one of those people who gave off an air of extraordinary charisma.

So yes, Ryoma understood that his attraction to Yukimura was justified. After all, he was human. Contrary to popular belief that was spurred by his abomination of a brother and his own disinclination towards socialization (with either gender), he was a genuine red-blooded male. There were just very few things that actually caught his attention.

But then, that did not make things any easier.

He knew he was attracted to Tezuka because of the skill and personality. But now Yukimura as well? He groaned out loud, burying his face into his pillow. His face was flushed with heat, and Karupin was nuzzling into his side, but he could not be bothered to care. He was just plain confused.

He reached up and slid the pad of his finger across his lower lip.

_The s__tupid smiling demon just stole my first kiss._

He then paused. Was there not an instance when he and Ryoga had accidentally kissed when they were children? Yes, there was (though he was a firm believer that it had been no 'accident' and that Nanjiroh and Rinko had meant to push them together like that for a picture; they were wicked that way). So technically, it was not his first kiss.

Technically.

_Argh! Why the hell am I acting like a lovesick schoolgirl?!_

Honestly. If he stayed any longer within this university, he'd go mad (if he wasn't already). He was pretty damned sure of it. But then, he really did not have much choice. Tezuka was not going anywhere, and thus, he also would not going anywhere. And he'd be damned before he would admit loss to anybody. So yes, he was trapped, painfully so, in between Yukimura and Tezuka. And he could see no hopes for escape.

_Oh gods above, why do you hate me so?_

-

* * *

_-_

That evening's conference meeting participants were all graced by Yukimura's elevated and giddy mood. Sanada was torn between worry (for the unfortunate victim of the smiling demon, that is) and apprehension (whatever mess Yukimura had caused will no doubt be waiting for the clean-up party, which would be him). It was rare for Yukimura to be so thoroughly elated that even the Emperor himself was slightly disconcerted. Fuji alone, it seemed, was sharing Yukimura's happiness.

But of course, no one said a single word about it for the duration of the entire meeting. They all knew the reason for the bubbly-ness that the cellist was currently exhibiting. Something must have happened with their newest transfer student (otherwise known as Yukimura's newest Pet). Tezuka was far more preoccupied with the preparations for the concours; even though he was intrigued by Echizen Ryoma (like he had no doubt the entire school was), he was not irresponsible. He had work to do.

Likewise, Yuushi kept his silence. He knew better than to meddle within matters that included Yukimura, Fuji, and their unfortunate…Pets. Fiddling with nuclear bombs was unfortunately not a pastime of his. Those kinds of hobbies were better left either to the dogged duty of the Emperor to Yukimura or to the enormous ego of his own King.

The King, however, was not pleased.

Atobe Keigo's eyes darkened at the mention of said concours. He had already expressed his disinclination to join for this year quite blatantly, but Fuji still had the gall to go against his decision and sign him up as an accompanying pianist for some imbecilic moron who would be screeching their fiddle. He had wanted some blissful rest from the rest of the world's blabbering. No doubt he'd be winning a straight streak within the concours anyway; there was no point in joining anymore, especially if Tezuka himself was not in it. He was already reserved a spot for the Inter-School Concours, after all.

But noooo, Fuji just had to sign him up as a pianist—and without even consulting him beforehand!

"By any chance, is this... positively obnoxious behavior both of you are exhibiting related to my being forced into accompanying some inept being at the concours?" he said, glaring full-force at the twin smiling faces.

"Why, yes!" Yukimura smiled. "How astute of you, 'To-be-chan!"

An elegant eyebrow twitched. "Are you mocking me?"

Yukimura gave him a half-pout and something that was supposedly a placating smile. "Now, now, 'To-be-chan. Don't _you_ mock _me_. You are too purple-y pretty today to be mocked."

And indeed, Atobe was purple-y pretty that day, with his purple dress shirt and the purple face he was sporting. It was common knowledge that Atobe Keigo sported the color purple, for the color represented royalty, and the King would not settle for less. However, there were still some people who had the gall (and the skill) to insult the King's color and escape painful persecution.

Yukimura Seiichi was one of them.

Fuji giggled merrily. "Don't be so upset, 'To-be-chan! You and our little transfer student pet will be just fine!"

Atobe scowled at him, and he smiled, moving to add another comment on how Atobe would be perfectly fine with the current predicament at hand. However, before he could say anything else, Tezuka cleared his throat, effectively commanding the attention of the entire table.

"Fuji, exactly what is this you are so happy about?" Tezuka asked with a slight frown.

And with a brilliant grin, Fuji began to relay mangled info to Tezuka, whose frown grew deeper and deeper as the explanation about how Echizen was to be accompanied by Atobe—Yuushi visibly winced; Echizen's stubborn rudeness was by now common knowledge within campus, and it would be no good to mix a spoiled rude little Prince with a self-absorbed prissy King.

Fuji finished with flourish, and Yukimura nodded along. Both of them beamed twin smiles™ to a deeply frowning and troubled Tezuka. An added crease was evident on the bespectacled pianist's forehead.

"Fuji," he began, settling a stern gaze on the smiling tensai. He could not impose on Yukimura, for Yukimura was not under his direct jurisdiction, but he _could_ give a warning to Fuji. So he would. "Do not cause Echizen any grief."

Fuji's eyebrows lifted, and an air of innocence was assumed. "Oh, of course not! I wouldn't even dream of it, Tezuka. Not to worry, not to worry," the tensai smiled sagely, patting Tezuka's hand. "If anything, all of us can be sure that Atobe and Echizen can handle each other, no?"

_**Man**__handle each other, more like_, Yuushi thought to himself. He exchanged exasperated glances with Sanada and Tezuka. _Atobe Keigo and Echizen Ryoma—well. We shall all __have to prepare__ for the __up__coming tornado._

Shaking his head, Tezuka sighed and returned to the papers he was perusing. He would just have to personally make sure that both Ryoma and Atobe would behave.

Suffice to say, the meeting that evening was not a productive one.

-

* * *

-

Early morning walks were never really Ryoma's thing. Like any sane Echizen, he was a deep sleeper, and he tended to sleep well into the day. Most of the time, he did not have to worry about waking up in time, for his alarm clocks were all geared for intense workout (and had to have anti-shock protection for when they collided with the walls as well) and his mother was a very punctual woman untainted with the Echizen blood. Now that he was in Japan, he had Yukimura to ensure his punctuality—even the atrocity had his uses.

However, this morning seemed to be a grand exception to the general scheme of things within an Echizen's life. He sighed. One would think he'd have already gotten used to disturbances in his life by now. In all honesty, he was tempted to think that the campus itself was jinxed. Or at least the dorms were. For ever since he had arrived, there hasn't been a full twenty-four hours of calm and order within his routine.

Yawning blearily, he trudged out of the dorms with a mug of steaming hot chocolate nestled safely between his hands. As he walked into the chill of the sunny February morning, he blandly smiled. He wasn't much of a nature person, but he could appreciate the beauty of a fine day.

"You should wear a thicker jacket."

Startled beyond his wits, he whirled to face the person behind him—and the scathing reply on the tip of his tongue withered away.

"…T-Tezuka-san—…"

This would be the first time the two of them were alone together, his subconscious was trilling. He found that he did not know what to say. He hadn't a single idea about starting a conversation; he wasn't exactly a people person.

Thankfully enough, Tezuka was the one who took the incentive.

"What are you doing up so early?" asked the elder musician.

"I could ask you the same question," the younger boy smirked up at Tezuka, before catching himself and adding, "Tezuka-san."

Tezuka's lip twitched faintly as he moved towards one of the wooden benches under a tree. "This is the time of the day when my head is clearest, you see."

"…ah," Ryoma nodded, seating himself on the opposite edge of the bench. There was about a couple of inches' worth distance between them, but he could have sworn they were touching. "A morning person."

"I never would have guessed you were a morning person," Tezuka shot back. "And yet here you are."

"I'm not. But hey, I've been going against myself these past few weeks so often. This much shouldn't surprise me anymore." Ryoma was amazed at how easy it was to talk. The words were flowing; he did not even have to choose them carefully.

Comfortable silence settled between them, and Ryoma sipped on his hot chocolate greedily. It would be such a shame to waste chocolate on such a fine day.

"I do hope Fuji and Yukimura aren't giving you any trouble," muttered Tezuka, words a faint whisper that Ryoma almost missed them.

He let out a silent bark of laughter. "Them? Not give me trouble?"

Sighing, Tezuka said, "Let me rephrase that: I'm sorry for any trouble and most possibly any migraine that they are and will be inevitably giving you."

Ryoma smiled faintly to himself, gazing at Tezuka with raised eyebrows. "You shouldn't have to apologize for something you did not do."

"I am still directly responsible for Fuji, and partly responsible for Yukimura. The least I could do for…" he paused, as if contemplating his words. "…well, the least I could do is to try my best to keep them in line."

"Heeh," Ryoma smirked. "How very responsible."

"Someone has to be in this campus," sighed the pianist.

Another stretch of silence settled over them. The sun was almost fully out now, and ribbons of sunlight was starting to warm the air. A lone squirrel scampered about under the tree across their bench. Ryoma's golden eyes followed the little creature in its quest for food in the barren winter days.

Settling his cup of tea on the bench, Tezuka tore a strip from his bread and gently tossed it near the squirrel.

"I wonder why he won't leave," mumbled Ryoma faintly.

"Leave?"

"The little squirrel," he said. "He will find no food here. There will be plenty in the nearby conservatory, though. I wonder why he won't leave."

At that moment, another squirrel scampered into view and skittered beside the first one. The second squirrel had a bloated tummy—pregnant.

"He has something keeping him here," Tezuka replied simply. "He has someone keeping him here, even if staying is hard."

"But what if that someone turns out not to be worth the hardship?" Ryoma questioned.

They watched, silent and unmoving, as the squirrels skittered past and disappeared into a nearby bush. The faint warmth of a new day bathed them as the sun emerged fully from its bed covers and smiled down at the world.

Suddenly, Ryoma felt sleepy.

Tezuka stood when Ryoma yawned, and took the younger's hand. The pianist led Ryoma towards the dorms. "That someone will have to be worth it. He should have to be able to accept whatever is waiting for him, for it was his decision to stay after all."

Ryoma looked up at Tezuka. "But how does he fend off disappointment?"

At this, Tezuka gently smiled—an almost imperceptible lifting of the edges of his lips. "Who says he will be disappointed?" The pianist let go of the smaller but similarly callused hand. "Go and get some sleep, Echizen."

And as Ryoma sank back into bed and a sea of fitful dreams, a faint thought brushed his consciousness.

_Whoever did say I would be disappointed?_

_- _

* * *

_- _

By the time Ryoma arrived, the Chamber Orchestra was already done for the day. Ryoma's eyes sought out Fuji, and found him standing by a corner talking with Tezuka and a sandy-haired guy he recognized as Shiraishi. Yukimura was talking to a tall young man with a baseball cap, a wider-than-normal and blatantly expectant smile spread over his face as if there was something terribly entertaining approaching.

Ryoma sighed, turning his eyes away from the cellist, and instead focusing on the miniature orchestra.

There was quite a number of members who preferred to stay over to practice some more, and as thus, Ryoma's ears was treated to the rare sight of the Chamber practice. It was widely known within campus that the Chamber refused to let other students—and even professors—into their practice sessions unless absolutely necessary. Something about disrupting the flow of the practice, or so Fuji says.

He was in the process of seating himself by a nondescript chair near the door when a loud and utterly horrendous screech made him wince. Eyes snapping towards the raised steppes where the musicians were perched upon for proper view from the conductor's point of view, he grimaced.

A red-haired violinist was attempting—Ryoma choked in part-indignation and part-horror—a _very_ horrific rendition of Barber's Adagio for Strings.

His inner critics railed. _Too loud, you incompetent moron! Dare you desecrate music in front of me?! At least have the gall to study the sheets beforehand!_

"Kintarou!" barked Shiraishi from the corner. The fair-haired young man was now alone; Tezuka had walked out of the room a few moments ago, and Fuji had disappeared from sight. "I don't remember that part having a_ forte_ on it! Tone it down, for goodness' sake!"

Ryoma heard a whine, but the redhead obediently lowered the volume.

_That C-trumpet is far too enthusiastic! Its __**adagio**__, not scherzo, damnit! Don't bloody murder the piece's flow and interpretation!_

"Eiji! Stop trying to make it a happy song! It is NOT a happy song!" Shiraishi snapped.

_What in the bloody seven hells—this entire orchestra _fails_. Flutist, pay attention to articulation! Tuba-guy, TOO LOUD! And who the hell keeps on missing those notes? Is that—YOU, French horn person! Look at your scores! Are you blind, or just an utter total moron? That's an A, not an F! …bloody hell._

The violinist's eyebrow ticked. Shiraishi continued barking, snapping, and giving voice to Ryoma's inner critic, correcting the oft appalling mistakes. He felt like he knew now why people were not allowed to watch the practice sessions.

As Ryoma continued mentally mangling the orchestra's pride, Fuji sidled up to him silently and smiled, watching his eyebrows tick and his eyes twitch in annoyance.

"Is this really _the_ Chamber Orchestra?" grunted Ryoma, his arms crossed over his chest. "I rather am having some doubts."

Fuji laughed merrily. "They might look dysfunctional at first sight, but they actually make good music. Each and every single one of them are special, talented musicians. I would know; I handpicked about half of them. Don't you worry; you'll see what I mean in good time. But first things first; your pianist!"

Inwardly, Ryoma grimaced. Having Fuji handpick the orchestra members was not exactly a very reassuring thing. After all, so far there was no single evidence to attest against Fuji's inherent insanity. This person was just as bad as Yukimura. "This had better be good—this orchestra _and_ your pianist."

"Oh, Ryoma-kun, you honestly fret too much," Fuji waved off. Ryoma wondered when the 'Echizen-kun' had changed into 'Ryoma-kun'. "I think the two of you will get along wonderfully. I certainly will look forward to your music, as I'm sure the rest of the school will when they get the surprise."

Ryoma's scowl only deepened, and the eyes glazed with indignant fire. He petulantly grumbled, "I still want Tezuka."

"Atobe is just as good as Kunimitsu, Ryoma-kun," assured Fuji in a voice that was supposedly soothing—and it would have been, had Ryoma not known Fuji's underlying tendencies.

"Ore-sama resents that, Fuji."

Ryoma stilled.

The drawl was so disturbingly similar to his own drawl that Ryoma's skin crawled. The rest of the room's attention was commanded as Atobe _strutted_—for there were no other words worthy—into the practice hall. Heading straight for the piano by the corner and seating himself, deft fingers brought forth flawless arpeggios.

With a crack, Ryoma snapped pencil he was holding. "YOU!"

The room jumped.

Atobe, as if only just realizing Ryoma's presence, turned and raised an eyebrow. "I was not aware of Echizen Ryoma being a part of the Chamber."

But Ryoma chose to ignore him. "YOU PONTA-STEALING MONKEY!" he all but roared. Jaws fell. Atobe's fingers slipped from what was supposed to be an A-flat to a G in the middle of an elegantly improvised D-flat major arpeggio. Ryoma whirled on his heel and faced Fuji, face set and square. "I will_ not_ be playing with him."

"Maa, maa—"

"MONKEY?!" Atobe shrieked. _Shrieked._ The room gasped. "Who are you calling a monkey, you puny little _brat_?!"

Pulling off a perfect snobbish sniff, Ryoma's turned away from Atobe. "Looks like a monkey, _sounds_ like a monkey, and even _plays_ like a monkey!" He sneered. "Need I say more?"

Eiji, deeming it the perfect time to input, pulled a stage gasp (that everyone hears anyway). He grabbed Oishi and shook the poor mother hen. "Oh my god, look, look, look! Oishi, look! Ochibi just snubbed Atobe! SNUBBED Atobe!"

Atobe paid no heed. "How _dare_ you," he snarled at Ryoma, every word dripping venom.

Without missing a beat as if it was a perfectly orchestrated piece they were acting out, Ryoma turned to Fuji and said, "Clump him with the rest of your animals on display, Fuji." He jabbed a finger towards the orchestra in general. "They make a fine zoo collection."

A heartbeat of silence was all it took before the entire orchestra erupted in outrage. Momoshiro started yelling profanities ("barking, he's barking"), Eiji hissed and frothed at the mouth ("just like an overgrown cat"), Kaidoh was aggressively hissing and waving his flute around ("he actually _sounds_ like a snake, see?"), and for some reason, the red-haired violinist was just being an overexcited puppy. Somewhere within the confusion, Ryoma could swear he saw a headless hen running around in frenzy, trying to reassure the orchestra with a bleak, "He didn't mean it! He didn't mean it, everyone!"

Ryoma nodded to himself. "A fine zoo collection indeed. You've got breeds of dog, cat, snake, bird, and even marine animals ("Why thank you nyanko-chan!" chirped Yukimura). Now, all you need to do is add the monkey—" He cocked his head towards Atobe, whose face had turned a pretty shade of purple. "—and you're all set!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrapped candy, throwing it at Momoshiro and Eiji, who both fought to catch it. "See? They're trainable enough. You shouldn't have too much of a problem handling a monkey. He's almost human."

Under all the chaos, Yukimura was laughing merrily. He watches in amused fascination as Ryoma smirks in victory, having pushed _the_ infallible Atobe Keigo into a hernia.

However, all good things were bound to end.

"SILENCE!"

All it took was one word and a glare; the entire room fell silent. Ryoma turned to regard Tezuka with a frown, daring the pianist to challenge the merry chaos he had made.

However, Tezuka ignored him. "Shiraishi?"

With a terribly amused grin fixed upon his face, he shrugged. "Sorry, Tezuka-kun. It's after five. I'm not in charge of the orchestra after hours. I already work hard as it is."

Tezuka stared at Shiraishi for a heartbeat. Then he turned. "Fuji? Yukimura?"

Twin smiles™ were simply beamed his way, brimming with innocence and mirth. "Maa, as Shiraishi-kun said, we're not in charge of the orchestra after hours!" they chirped in perfect harmony.

This time, Tezuka glared. "You should—"

"Tezuka!" roared Atobe, having recovered from the injuries Ryoma dealt to his precious larger-than-the-largest-star pride. "This—this—pathetic excuse for a _fiddler _**insulted** ore-sama!! He called ore-sama a mon—"

A full-force Tezuka Glare™ effectively silenced Atobe, and a hand raised effectively stopped Ryoma from saying anything that would spiral the situation into chaos once more.

Two seconds of full silence passed, and Tezuka turned to Ryoma with a stern gaze.

Ryoma's hackles raised. "It's not my fault!"

Another two seconds, and Tezuka's gaze did not waver from Ryoma's eyes. There was a flicker of hesitancy within Ryoma's eyes, but it was quickly burned by the ferocious determination.

"It's not my fault!" he repeated, and then sniffed regally—a perfect mimicry of Atobe's disdainful sniff™. Tezuka absently pondered on Fuji's comment the previous night. Maybe Atobe and Ryoma _would_ handle each other just fine. Certainly showing such outright similarities could count for something.

"The_ hairy, Ponta-stealing, good-for-nothing __**monkey**_ desecrated Bach in MY presence. That doggie's mastication—" he said, pointing towards Momoshiro, who choked and reddened in indignant rage. "—would have sounded absolutely _heavenly_ compared to the monkey's failed attempts at making…"

Ryoma ran burning eyes over Keigo's form. His upper lip curled.

"…whatever he defines as _music._"

Yuushi, who was seated behind a hyperventilating Gakuto, pulled out his phone and dialed emergency keys that would have the butler, some maids, and some medics ready and waiting outside in case—as Marui had so eloquently put it—the shit hit the fan. He was also debating on whether he should stand up and get closer to Atobe—_just in case_—so it would be easier to restrain the obscenely enraged pianist.

However, the tension was quickly diffused when Ryoma marched up to Tezuka and tugged on the other pianist's sleeve. Tezuka raised an eyebrow.

The sheer expectant look on Ryoma's face was enough to make anyone think that this was a child and not a fully-grown fifteen year old violin virtuoso.

"_You_ will play with me," Ryoma declared with flourish, a smile curving upon his lips.

Chuckling to himself and shaking his head, Yuushi knew the entire room was thinking along the same lines as he was. No one had ever thought of demanding anything of _the_ Tezuka Kunimitsu, not even the pompous King himself. And here, in front of all of them, was a child _declaring_ that _the_ Tezuka Kunimitsu would be his _accompanying pianist._

The edge of Tezuka's lips faintly quirked into an imperceptible smile.

"Ii data," muttered Inui from somewhere nearby. The frantic scratching of pen on paper was just about the only sound inside the dead silent practice hall.

"I shall be judging the concours, Echizen. It would not be impartial of me to take part in the competition. As Atobe declined to participate in judging and the concours altogether, he is the ideal candidate to be your pianist."

As Tezuka spoke, Ryoma's lips very slowly and very gradually formed a frown. The violinist looked up steadily at Tezuka with golden imploring eyes lit with burning fire from within—this boy was determined to get what he wanted.

_Not yet. _

Ryoma's mouth quivered.

"Echizen."

Silence.

"…fine." Ryoma gave a tiny sigh, letting go of Tezuka's sleeve and turning away to sulk. "Fine. The monkey better learn the difference between flats and naturals by the next time I see him." With that, Ryoma took measured steps towards the practice hall's doors, which swung open under his hands.

The faint mumble almost missed Tezuka's ears, of which he was thankful that it completely eluded Atobe's. He did not want to subject his ears to any more screeching than he had to, especially not now.

_Not yet, Echizen Ryoma._

-

-

* * *

**To Be Continued**  
_(R__evised Version)_

* * *

**Kia Ixari & Aventria**  
_First Draft: 29 Feb 2008  
Uploaded:__29 Feb 2008  
Last Revised: 29 Feb 2008_


	7. Op 06: A bene placido

**Concerto**  
Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer(s):** Standard disclaimer applies.

**Chapter Warning(s):** None so far.

**Note:** Music download page has been updated with new downloads, for those who might be interested. Franz Liszt's "Un Sospiro" was added, as well as several L'Arc songs.

* * *

**SONATA  
Op. 06: ****A bene placido**

* * *

-

**(1) Yare yare** – An expression that somewhat means "My, my." It's quite hard to translate, but it generally expresses amused or tired resignation (more often the former).

**(2) Obocchama** – An honorary term meaning "young master".

**(3) Yoroshiku** – A polite phrase that literally translates as "well" (from _yoroshii_ which means "good"), but actually means "Pleased to meet you" or "I/we leave (whatever/whoever) in your hands".

**(4)** For those who don't know, HIV was contracted from monkeys.

-

* * *

-

Yukimura sighed.

"…and I really think we should be planning for more people," Sanada said. Across the table, Tezuka jotted something down on paper. "Last year's concours were flooded. It would be a disaster if that was to happen again and we're caught unaware."

Yukimura sighed again.

"That makes sense, especially with someone as famous as Echizen Ryoma within campus," nodded Tachibana. "I'll talk to the board for a bit more of leeway on our budget. I think they'll readily agree if I point out just how much the media will be focusing on us this year…"

Yukimura sighed once more, and Fuji sighed with him.

Reaching over, the tensai patted Yukimura's hand. "Why don't you run over and check on him now, if you're that worried?"

This time, sighs were drawn simultaneously from Sanada, Yuushi, and Tezuka. A childish harrumph was Atobe's only reaction, while Tachibana merely shook his head.

"Ah, no, I can't do that either," Yukimura frowned. "He's a delicate child, no matter how he may want to look tough. He's a big baby, but he hates people knowing that." He ignored Keigo's scoff at the word 'delicate'.

"But he already knows you know," Fuji reasoned out. "Don't you think it will be better if you go there and try to stop him from jumping off the rooftop or something?"

"Oh, he won't do that, I'm sure," chuckled the cellist, a wide smile stretching his lips. "Not while Tezuka still breathes and resides within this campus. So yes, we can be sure that Ryoma will not be committing suicide anytime soon. The boy is not stupid."

"Ore-sama still does not see the point of playing _baby sitter_ to the puny brat," Atobe grumbled.

Yukimura giggled. "'To-be-chan, are you on a sulking contest with Ryoma? Because from what I see, both of you are—"

"Yukimura," Tezuka interrupted with a sigh. "Don't bait him."

Said cellist gazed over at Tezuka with eyebrows raised. Apparently, even the great Tezuka Kunimitsu could get tired of Atobe's endless whining. If there was one thing Atobe was exceptionally good at, it was getting under Tezuka's skin. The rich business heir could brag about that all day and Yukimura wouldn't say a thing to refute it.

"Well, if you say so, Tezuka-kun," quipped Yukimura, laughter still twinkling within his eyes. He sighed and turned to his papers, doodling absently.

"Are you sure you don't need to go up to Ryoma-kun?" Fuji inquired.

"Oh, no. I should leave him be for now. He'll be fine." He flashed a smile at Fuji, knowing that the brunet would understand. Ryoma would not be able to last long without support; sooner or later, he would be running back into familiar arms, completely of his own volition.

-

* * *

-

Ryoma sneezed, cursing the heavens for the umpteenth time that evening. He tucked a napping Karupin snugly into his side, curling under his blankets even under the room's heating system. Pillows were stacked around him, making an impenetrable fortress that blocked him out from the rest of the accursed world he was forced to inhabit.

Karupin, as if sensing his master's distress, immediately hopped into bed beside him upon his arrival. His cat was very intuitive, and he was thankful for it. The warm and comforting little presence helped ease his worries if only a fraction.

For how long he's been under his blankets, he did not know, and nor did he care. Three times his phone rang, and three times a voice message from an increasingly annoyed Kevin filtered through the silence of the darkened room—he paid no heed. He knew that the blonde's instincts would be ringing bells by now. For some reason, Kevin knew whenever he was upset, even when they were thousands of miles of land and seas apart.

But he would not relent. Heaven be damned, he would not play with that filthy monkey. And how _dare_ Tezuka refuse his offer—and right in front of the entire orchestra too! (Of course, it was partly his fault for being so audacious as to talk to Tezuka that way in front of other people, but that didn't mean he had to acknowledge it.)

Mind flashing back to their first meeting, his face pulled into a snarl.

-

_He could not, for the lives of all things living, figure out why he had agreed to attend this inane and horrendously boring party. Parties were below him. Parties were not worthy of his time. And yet here he was, all decked in formal attire, "partying" himself to the end of the world. He would rather be at home playing with Karupin._

_Spotting his father attempting (and failing) to flirt with some young women, he sighed. His brother was nowhere to be seen (most probably up to some harebrained prank with his best friend Kazu again) and his mother was off tittering with some other ladies of her age._

_And Ryoma was left to fend for himself._

_Grumbling to himself, he trudged towards the bar and gruffly ordered a glass of Ponta. Lucky him; it was the last glass. Evidently, the drink was quite popular. Or perhaps he'd drained their entire __stock__ without__noticing._

"…_and he should not have done that at all, no!" _

_Ryoma winced. He knew what was coming._

"_Oh, there he is—Ryoma, darling!" Rinko called, gesturing for him. _

_Ryoma sighed, glancing over to the bartender, who was still serving one other person before he could get the glass of Ponta ready. Figuring that __no health-conscious person would grab a random glass on a table __anyway, he lazily sauntered over to his mother. "Yes?"_

"_Let me introduce you to Mrs. Sheridan, an old friend of mine. Mrs. Sheridan, this is my youngest, Ryoma," Rinko said. "He plays the violin."_

"_Ah! What a wonderful boy. He __inherited__ his father's eyes," Mrs. Sheridan smiled down at Ryoma._

_Ryoma politely greeted her, mind wandering off tangent. Apparently, Mrs. Sheridan was some sort of a professor at some music institute in London. Everything his mother said went into one ear and out the other; he was sure his mother knew that too. But for propriety's sake, he kept silent and bore the boringness of it all._

_However, when his peripheral vision caught the bartender placing the glass of Ponta on the bar, his patience snapped. _

"_Excuse me, mother, Mrs. Sheridan," he politely detached from their conversation (within which he was never really included anyway), and headed towards the bar. He glared as a throng of young men blocked his way momentarily, but soon enough, he managed to shove through them and—_

_He stopped._

_The glass of Ponta was gone._

_His glass of Ponta was _gone_._

_Snarling, he strode forth and scanned the crowd around the bar. Surely the culprit could not have gone too far. It was just there a moment ago—_

"_Oi, chibisuke!" a familiar voice called. A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him backwards. "Where are you going?"_

"_Someone stole my Ponta!" Ryoma snapped at his brother, death glare on full blast. (Little did he know that the glare only made him look more adorable.)_

_Ryoga looked down at his little brother with raised eyebrows then reached over and pinched a cheek. "You're so cute, chibisuke. I just _know_ you take after your beloved aniki. No?" Somewhere behind the elder Echizen sibling, Kazu was snickering._

"_Let me go! Someone stole my Ponta!" Ryoma all but shrieked._

"_Just get another one, chibisuke!" Ryoga reasoned, tugging his flailing younger brother towards their lecher of a father. "Oyaji is calling for you."_

"_But that was the last glaaaass!" Ryoma whined. "I want my last glass!!" Struggling in Ryoga's grasp, he twisted backwards and craned his head to get a good look at whoever had dared nab his Ponta. Sharp eyes caught a boy just about as old as his aniki, with dark grey hair and pretty grey eyes, __downing __the very same glass of Ponta he had ordered._

_Baring his teeth, he snarled. In his mind, he was screaming. _You Ponta-stealing good-for-nothing filthy monkey! I'll never forgive you!! EVER!

_Had he looked a while longer, he would have seen the grey-eyed boy sneeze and choke on his Ponta._

-

Ryoma was startled back into reality by Karupin's claws digging through his shirt and into his chest. He had unknowingly started to smother the cat in his fury, and the cat had retaliated by ruining his favorite shirt. He grumbled, burying his head back into his pillow and letting go of a yowling Karupin.

He did not want to leave the safe confines of his room for fear of stumbling into something that would make his day even worse than it already was (though he doubted such a thing existed, for he had already met the bane of his very existence). However, he was yearning for company.

_But I don't know where Yukimura's room is._

For the two odd weeks he'd been residing within campus, he had never once bothered to ask to be shown where Yukimura's room was. It should have been common sense to do so, since Yukimura immediately took him under wing. He was even more surprised that Yukimura had yet to do it himself.

Pulling on his wonderfully warm sweater, he went outside and made a beeline for the door right next to his. Without any hesitation or further thought of how he could be disturbing the poor person, he knocked loudly.

"Just a moment!" Fuji's voice floated through the door, and Ryoma stepped back. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal the ever-smiling violinist. "Ara, Ryoma-kun. What can I help you with?"

"Yukimura's room," Ryoma flatly stated.

Fuji raised an eyebrow. "So it seems Yukimura-kun was right," he smiled, and then stepped back. "Let me get my jacket, and I'll walk you there."

Before Ryoma could ask what Fuji meant by his statement, the tensai had already disappeared into his faintly lit room. The foot of the bed was slightly visible from where Ryoma was standing, and he could also see the side of the desk beside a window. The windowsill was lined with little potted plants—cacti, Ryoma noted with curiosity—and two framed pictures of some people he could not make out.

Soon enough, Fuji came out donning a jacket, his shoes, and a wider smile. While he was closing his door and locking it, he remarked, "I would never have expected that you were still awake at this hour of the night, Ryoma-kun. From what I gather, you are quite the sleep lover."

"Eh?" Ryoma voiced. "Why? What time is it?"

Fuji turned to him dubiously. "It's almost one."

"…oh." Ryoma shuffled on his feet. Fuji might have already been sleeping, and he had so shamelessly knocked on the door…

"No worries," chuckled Fuji, slinging an arm around Ryoma's shoulders and leading him down the darkened hallway. The only light source was the floor lights for it was a new moon tonight, and the sky was pitch black. "It wasn't like I was sleeping already anyways."

Looking up at the tensai, Ryoma asked, "You said Yukimura was right. What did you mean by that?"

"Ah," Fuji replied, a smile on his face as he ruffled Ryoma's hair affectionately. Inwardly, Ryoma sighed. Everyone seemed to see him as either their pet or their adorable little brother in this place. "Well, he was worried about you earlier when we had a meeting, but when we suggested checking on you, he refused and said that you would come on your own accord."

Ryoma scowled.

Giggling, Fuji poked at his cheek. "Does it annoy you that he knows exactly how you will behave?"

The scowl grew deeper.

"Ah, now, don't be like that, Ryoma-kun," the tensai sighed. "Yukimura-kun is just all too good at reading people, you know. You're not alone. He can predict anyone and everyone."

"Even you?" Ryoma shot back, scowl still in place.

Fuji smiled down at him complacently. "Yes, Ryoma-kun. Even me."

"I somehow find that hard to believe," grumbled the violinist as they descended the last flight of stairs and crossed their dorm's main lobby. Nodding to the guard on duty, Fuji ushered Ryoma towards the connecting hallway that led to Dorm I.

"Most people do. But Yukimura-kun is quite unique."

Yukimura's suite—as Fuji had called it—was on the second floor of the first dormitory. The tensai explained that had Ryoma not chosen to stay within Dorm II under Tezuka's supervision, he would have been granted a special suite like Yukimura's within Dorm I, since all the special suites in Dorm II were taken. Fuji himself apparently had a special suite (Ryoma couldn't tell from outside, though he had noted that the room looked larger than his own) and Tezuka had one too. Ryoma did not bother asking how Fuji had known that he had personally asked for Dorm II; he really did not need to.

Fuji knocked three times on Yukimura's door.

"Are you sure he's still awake?" Ryoma asked.

"He should be. If he's not, then he'll surely wake up." Fuji petted Ryoma gently. "Don't you worry. He won't mind being woken up if it's for you."

The door was eased open, revealing Yukimura in his sleeping clothes but looking very much awake. "Fuji-kun, what can I—nyanko-chan?"

"Don't call me that!"

"Why are you still awake? It's already one in the morning!"

"Yes, well, apparently, he could not fall asleep," Fuji giggled. "That, or he woke up from a nightmare and wanted company. So he came knocking on my door, and—"

Grunting, Ryoma pushed away from Fuji, past Yukimura, and into the suite. He did not bother to wait for an invitation; it wasn't like Yukimura would push him out anyway. However, things were not as dandy as he had expected.

There, on the bed, was seated the dark-haired student who had snapped at him during the other day's concours meeting. Upon seeing him, said student scowled darkly, eyes spitting fire like an offended little puppy. Ryoma, out of instinct, snarled back.

"Now, now, Akaya-chan," Yukimura warned. He was ushering Fuji into the suite. The suite was indeed roomier— with more space to move about, a bigger bed, a spacious wardrobe, a bigger bathroom, enough space for a bigger desk, and a corner for the cello. Had Yukimura been a pianist, there would no doubt be a baby grand in this room. "Behave."

"Ah, of course," Fuji smiled. "I'd forgotten Akaya-kun tended to stay the nights in here."

"Always?" Ryoma grumbled.

"Why, you got a problem with that?" Kirihara frowned.

"And what if I do?"

"Ryoma-chan, Akaya-chan. Behave," Yukimura firmly repeated.

Turning his nose up, Ryoma removed his sweater and crawled into the bed. He burrowed under the blankets, tugging against Kirihara's grasp. "Give some."

"I don't want to."

"Akaya-chan," Yukimura sighed. "Why can't you share with Ryoma-chan?"

"Because I don't want to," Kirihara stubbornly refused.

"Fine," Ryoma sniffed, reaching for Yukimura's arm and tugging the cellist into bed. "I'll have my own bed warmer anyway."

"Oh, no you don't." Kirihara grabbed Yukimura's other arm. "Sei-chan is mine." _Tug._

"I don't see your name on him." _Tug!_

"You don't put nametags on everything you own, do you?" _TUG!_

For next little while, a tug of war ensued. Ryoma and Kirihara were arguing over who should snuggle up beside Yukimura, until they finally settled for putting the cellist in their middle. All the while, Fuji was giggling over the argument, while Yukimura sighed and patiently put up with the two petulant children.

When they finally managed to settle down, Yukimura finally found the opportunity to properly talk without being interrupted. "So, Ryoma-chan, are you doing fine? You were quite… fired up this afternoon."

"The monkey had better not humiliate me by lumbering on the keys." Ryoma burrowed his face into a big pillow.

"I assure you, Ryoma-kun, Atobe-kun is a proficient pianist. You shouldn't find anything to complain about."

"Apart from his ego, you mean," snorted Kirihara. "I swear his ego is fifty times taller than the Eiffel."

"A hundred," Ryoma corrected.

"_Two _hundred."

"No, three."

Kirihara turned to Ryoma and a wide diabolical grin crawled upon his face. "You know, you should piss Atobe off more. His face was beyond precious!" he crooned.

"Wasn't it?" Ryoma grinned back.

The two (read: Yukimura Pets) stared at each other, as if in evaluation, and then broke into similarly disconcerting expressions of unbridled mischievousness.

"Yare yare (1)," Fuji sighed, chuckling in mock resignation. "It seems that Ryoma-kun and Akaya-kun have found themselves a common…interest besides yourself, Yukimura-kun."

Yukimura matched his actions, sigh for sigh, and chuckle for chuckle. "I almost feel sorry for 'To-be-chan."

Twin smiles™ graced their features.

"Almost."

-

* * *

-

Early the following morning, Ryoma was dragged out from blissful slumber by a persistent knocking on Yukimura's door. Cocooned in comfort and warmth, he really was not feeling up to facing another day—especially not when he had only snagged more or less five hours of sleep. That was _far_ too small a number for him to be able to go through an entire day.

Groaning, he tossed under the covers, knocking knees with a still sleeping Kirihara. He pulled the blankets up over his head in a futile attempt to block out the sounds. Yukimura was already at the door, answering to the very early call. How the cellist could manage to properly function at this hour in the morning with even less sleep than he had was a wonder to revel in for the rest of eternity.

Catches of the conversation filtered into his ears, and he could not describe the relief he felt when the intruder at the door finally walked away. The gentle padding footsteps were comforting, and soothed his muscles.

But that was only for the moment.

"Ryoma-chan?"

He lay still petulantly.

A gentle hand brought warm pressure over the top of his head, and the fingers carded through silky black tresses in a calming gesture. "I'm sorry I have to wake you up so early. I know you want to sleep more, but…"

Ryoma turned away from Yukimura.

The cellist sighed. "Ryoma-chan? You have a practice session with Atobe today. He requests you to be present during the morning, since he will be occupied with work for the most part of the afternoon."

Silence.

"Ryoma-chan? Are you listening?"

…_bloody hell._

-

* * *

-

Any living being with even just a single cubic millimeter of self-preservation would know better than to dare breathe the same air a Ryoma, especially one who is fresh out of bed, breathes. For Ryoma was never a morning person, he glowered and glared and grouched at whomever he came in contact with—be it his parents, his brother, Kevin, Yukimura, the sun, the bathroom mirror, his reflection, the door, the air, and the ground he walked on. (Karupin and Tezuka were both exempt, the latter having been added to the Safe List only recently.)

He stalked down the hallway, Yukimura closely shadowing his steps without any single concern for his own well-being. It was as though he was confident that he would escape or evade Ryoma's wrath effectively, no matter what the situation was, for he even dared _touch_ the said grouch.

The cellist took Ryoma's shoulders and steered him towards the dormitory lobby and out through the automatic sliding doors. There, on the driveway, was a sleek black limousine, all grandeur meant to awe and inspire.

All it did was deepen Ryoma's set scowl.

"What is this?" he gruffly asked a terribly amused Yukimura.

"A limousine."

"I can see that. I meant, what is it doing here?"

"Picking you up?"

"…I _knew_ that. I meant, _why_ does it need to be a bloody limousine?!"

"Because it's Atobe," Yukimura cheerfully said.

"Ugh," Ryoma groaned. He could feel his headache already building its own headache. He turned and made to stalk back to his room for a nap, but no sooner than his first step, the limousine's door opened and out came servants decked in formal attire. The manservant nearest to the door held it open for him.

"Ara!" Yukimura delightedly exclaimed. "Seems To-Be-chan's people have come to kidnap you, Ryoma-chan."

Ryoma face faulted.

"Oh, no, don't you worry," the cellist was quick to assuage his fears. "He is as nice and cuddly as a St. Bernard." With a bright smile, Yukimura turned to the staff. "Why, good morning."

Upon being addressed, the entire black-decked crew bowed in perfect unison. Ryoma faintly wondered if they were wirelessly-controlled robots. "A pleasant morning, Yukimura-sama." A manservant stepped forward. "We are here to escort obocchama's (2) partner for your intra-school concours, a certain Echizen Ryoma-sama."

"Y-Yoro… shiku…?" (3) Ryoma apprehensively said, eye twitching. Was it just him, or was Japan getting weirder and weirder by the minute? Mentally, Ryoma chewed on his lip at the mention of a St. Bernard. Certain very unpleasant childhood memories involving a bored older brother, a starving pet doggie, and a house devoid of parents came to mind. _It's not going to eat me, __is it?_

Yukimura clapped Ryoma's shoulders with a finality that clearly said there was no backing out of this dilemma. "Then I shall entrust Ryoma-chan to your very capable hands. I would like him back in one piece and of sane mind…" he flashed his infuriatingly kind smile™, "…if it's not much trouble."

A universal shudder, albeit infinitesimal, ran through the entire staff. "O-Of course, Yukimura-sama. N-not much trouble at all, especially for you, Yukimura-sama."

On certain occasions, Ryoma could not help but be grateful that Yukimura had taken an immediate liking to him (not that he had not expected it; he _was_ adorable through and through, after all). The said cellist could be quite scary—and dangerous—when he wanted to be. Very few people were actually immune from him. Not even Tezuka had full immunity.

However, as he was ushered into the roomy limousine, he could not help but tug on Yukimura's sleeve. He wanted the cellist to come, if only for his own survival.

"I'm afraid not today, Ryoma-chan," apologized Yukimura. He gently pried Ryoma's hand from his knit windbreaker and leaned forward to peck Ryoma's forehead. "I have some stuff to do first, but when you come back, we can sit inside and have some hot chocolate. Okay?"

Ryoma huffed minutely, reluctantly letting go of the cellist and retreating into the limousine.

"See you later, Ryoma-chan!" bid Yukimura, but Ryoma simply glowered into his lap.

-

* * *

-

The drive to wherever the monkey king was at infinitely exceeded boring. The manservant accompanying him inside the limousine—the rest of them where in the second black car (how they managed to all fit, Ryoma did not know)—was as stiff and silent as stone Ryoma could may well have been sitting beside a wall and not noticed the difference.

He could not mask his relief when the massive Western-style manor came to view. It was grand, but it was nothing Ryoma has not seen before. Having lived in Europe all his life, he was familiar with castles of old and aging buildings reflecting the grandeur of the past. This modern imitation was nothing compared to the genuine feel of the air inside the old cathedrals and halls and castles in Europe, the very same air those princes and nobles breathed three hundred odd years ago.

Taking in the fresh air and following his guides through the manor's beautiful entrance hall, Ryoma sighed. Climbing a flight of stairs to the second floor, they turned right, and then left, and went down the hallway. From somewhere down the hallway, Ryoma could hear the muffled notes of a piano, a melody that seemed vaguely familiar.

He held his hand up to the servants. "I can go from here. You can leave."

Bowing, they all left him to his own devices. He then silently padded down the hallway, following the precise notes of the piano. When he came upon the right room, he stood by the door, back against the wall, listening to the music that was being played.

Not a single note was out of place, and the articulation was very precise. The dynamics were flawless, and the right amount of emotion with a generous dash of grace was audible. Ryoma could see—or more precisely, _hear_—exactly why Atobe Keigo was respected as one of the best in the school.

Closing his eyes, he let the gentle melody that flittered up and down the keyboard wash over his being. The piano's tuning was beyond excellent—it had the most marvelous sound Ryoma had ever heard from a piano. He was quite sure even his mother's precious old piano would not match up to this one.

_Quite skilled fingers_, he thought quietly, his feet shuffling against the carpet.

The music stopped.

"Quit dilly-dallying and get in," came a familiar drawl—for try as he might, he could not rid his mind of the arrogant rich spoilt brat.

"I see that monkey kings are _indeed_ trainable," Ryoma smirked, striding into the room and stopping a few feet before the pianist.

Atobe's eyebrow twitched, but he ignored the jab at his pride. And no one should make mistakes; this was only because Yukimura had _asked_ him to be _civil_. He _was_ a human being—he knew, at least, the basics of civility and propriety. "I trust your journey to my manor has been… uneventful?"

Ryoma shrugged. "Your gorillas did not manhandle me, if that's what you are referring to."

Twitch. "I'll have you know that Mr. Wood is a—"

"—_gorilla_—"

"—_retired_ major from the American army—"

"—oh pardon me, _American_ gorilla; we must get the nationality correct—"

"—and I will NOT have you insulting—"

"—you know, you have a frighteningly appropriate… _court of primates_… for a monkey king." Ryoma remarked with a smile that was eerily similar to Fuji and Yukimura's awfully vindictive grin™.

Twitch. Twitch. "You—"

A servant from the door—the butler, from what Ryoma could see—coughed discreetly to call their attention. "Excuse my rudeness, but Keigo-bocchama, you have less than two hours before your appointment."

This immediately silenced whatever Atobe was getting ready to say. The young heir sighed and nodded, motioning for Ryoma to take the tall seat. "Well. Take out your violin and your practice sheets. Let's get started."

"Of course, your Monkey-ness," Ryoma snickered. He could really care less about being so immature—he was having fun, and he was pissing Atobe off. "I live to serve."

What could be better?

-

* * *

-

In the end, they made no progress at all. They burned out more than an hour simply debating about which piece to use. The choice list began with more than twenty-five choices—very slowly and with much noisy argument, the list shrank to twenty, and then to eighteen, and then fifteen… slowly, slowly, until at the end, there only were two pieces remaining.

Ryoma had half the mind to simply just quit the stupid concours—he had been forced into it, and could really care less about what Yukimura would say. But whenever his mind touched on this idea, the image of a younger Tezuka playing the violin on the TV screen flashed into his mind, and he would inwardly sigh.

Without going through the concours, he would have a difficult time getting into the orchestra, and without getting into the orchestra, he would have a difficult time getting closer to Tezuka.

"For the hundredth time, monkey, I refuse to play Brahms," Ryoma reiterated. "I don't like that piece."

"Brat, you cannot possibly tell me that you want to play something as dull and unimpressive as _Anitra's Dance_?"

"It's definitely easier!" _You want me to lose sleep perfecting Brahms' Violin Sonata? Not bloody likely, monkey. Try me on a day that doesn't end in _–y_._

"But unimpressive. Do not think for a moment that you will get into the orchestra by performing such a dull piece," a visibly annoyed Atobe emphatically said to the boy. The pianist reached for a glass of water handed to him by a servant.

Ryoma sniffed. "All I need to do is get up on stage and screech my fiddle. They don't really care what song I play! You know as well as I do that they will probably_ insist_ on putting me into the orchestra even if I refuse. Not that I will, mind you."

"Ah, now that's a misconception, brat," smirked Atobe.

Ryoma could not help but shiver. Seeing Atobe smirk was like looking into a mirror. A majority of their facial expressions were so exactly alike that it never failed to send a rush of cold shimmying down Ryoma's spine. Deep inside, Ryoma knew that they were probably two of the same kind in terms of personality and countenance. (As far as he could see, they both had the same egotistical drives.) But of course, he refused to acknowledge that.

_I am a bonafide human. I am _not _among his species_, Ryoma firmly brainwashed himself.

"Misconception," Ryoma repeated dubiously.

"The judges will not be deciding whether you get into the orchestra or not. All they will be deciding," Atobe said, "is whether you win the concours or not. As for the orchestra, there will be different judges. The orchestra's faculty sponsors, Ryuuzaki-sensei and Sakaki-sensei, will be there to gauge your skills—and then there's the konzertmeister, the principals of the different sections—Yukimura will be one of them, the head conductor Shiraishi, and the second conductor Tezuka. The konzertmeister's decision, however, weighs a lot more than any of the rest of them except the conductor's."

"Then what's the reason for joining the concours? Why do _I_ have to toil through this _thing_?"

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," Atobe waved off. "It isn't like you haven't performed in public."

"That's not the point, monkey!" snarled Ryoma. "I refuse to waste sleeping time on a concours that won't serve a purpose!"

"But it _will_ serve a purpose. Joining the concours is synonymous to buying a ticket into the orchestra audition, not to mention, providing you a tentative rank within the orchestra itself. Not joining the concours means not fulfilling one of their main requirements."

Ryoma huffed. "It does not make sense."

"Keigo, darling?"

Ryoma's head whipped towards the door, where a beautiful lady was holding it open. Atobe had opened his mouth to speak, but the lady by the door had spoken first.

"I wasn't aware we were having a visitor today," the lady continued, smiling.

"Just a random acquaintance from school, mother," dismissed Atobe. "The meeting—is it finished?"

"Now, Keigo, be polite and do not talk about business matters in front of guests. There's no need to worry about the meeting. Now won't you introduce us? Oh, of course you won't, you shy child," the lady, Atobe Keigo's mother and thusly the manor's mistress, said. She turned to Ryoma and smiled. "My name is Atobe Saiko, and as you may have already gathered, I am Keigo's mother. I am very pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," Ryoma bowed.

"This is Echizen Ryoma," Atobe sighed, resigning to his fate. Once his mother was interested, she was interested—and there was absolutely no changing it. "He shall be enjoying the honor of my accompaniment in the upcoming intraschool concours."

"You mean the horror," Ryoma mumbled under his breath as the lady before them chuckled in amusement.

"Wonderful, wonderful," chirped Atobe Saiko. She stepped forward and took Ryoma by the shoulders. "I insist you stay for lunch, Echizen-kun. I am so glad our precious Keigo is widening his circle—it has been so long since he has brought a friend to the house on his own volition! It has always only been Yuushi-kun and Jiroh-kun. We must absolutely talk! I would love to know more about you—and your father of course; I am a devoted fan!"

_Oh, bloody hell,_ Ryoma groaned inwardly.

"I-I'm afraid I must return to campus soon, Mrs. Atobe—"

"Oh, but you can always call them…?" the lady insisted, pulling on an expression Ryoma believed to be a trait passed down exclusively within the female race.

"I—"

"It is no problem, mother; he shall be staying for lunch."

Atobe Saiko's eyes sparkled. "Then I shall have the table prepared!" She swept out of the room as elegantly as she'd swept in, her grace creating the illusion of gliding above ground instead of the normal walking. Ryoma shuddered to think how many hours she had to train herself to walk that way—surely no human being was _that_ graceful.

"Brat, clean up your mess," Atobe gestured towards the violin and the sheets. The servants were already taking care of the rest. "Mother is quick; lunch will be ready within fifteen minutes."

"W-Why the hell do _I_ have to stay for lunch?!" Ryoma indignantly exploded. "And we haven't even decided on a piece yet, monkey!"

"Which is exactly why you need to stay!" Atobe held out a hand. A servant came shuffling forward, handing the young heir his phone, which he grabbed. Promptly hitting a speed dial, he held the phone to his ear. "We shall continue practice after lunch. Now shush—I am calling your… _sitter_… to notify him that I will be borrowing you for a few more hours."

Ryoma's eyebrow ticked dangerously. "…_borrow_?" he snarled. "What am I—a _toy_?!"

Looking down at the violinist, Atobe raised a brow. "No, darling. You are a _pet_. Toys and pets are completely different things. Pets are more annoying and rebellious—they're hassling to take care of, and they are furniture hazards. I cannot have furniture hazards; it would be a total waste if a mere _pet_ were to destroy my authentic art collections. I honestly cannot understand why Yukimura insists on you."

Bristling, Ryoma opened his mouth to retort, but Atobe turned away from him.

"Ah, yes, Yukimura. I will be borrowing the brat for a few more hours," Atobe spoke without bothering with greetings. "Yes, he shall be staying for lunch. Yes. No, Yukimura, he is alive. Yes, he is still sane—though quite fired up, from what I can see. No, I will not be breaking anything. What—_no_, Yukimura—I am _not_ a pedophile! You can be assured that he will not be going within twenty feet of my personal chambers! If that is all you have to say—"

"YUKIIII!" screamed Ryoma. He lunged and grabbed Atobe's middle, tugging the arm holding the phone down. "YUKIII! I DON'T WANT TO STAY!!"

Atobe blandly looked down at Ryoma, then turned back to Yukimura and said, "Do babies need breasts to suckle on when they cry?"

"YUKIIIIIIIIII! SAVE ME!! HE'S RAPING ME!"

"What—I am _not_—you brat—"

"_I DON'T WANT TO GET AIDS!_" (4)

A floor down and a wing away, Atobe Saiko looked up from the dish she was laying out on the table and smiled at her husband. "It looks like our son is enjoying himself with his new friend."

-

* * *

**To Be Continued**_  
(__R__evised Version)_

* * *

**Kia Ixari & Aventria  
**_First Draft: 04.01.08__  
Uploaded: 04.06.08  
Last Revised: __04.04.08_


	8. Op 07: Affrettando

**Concerto**  
Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer(s):** Standard disclaimer applies.

**Warning(s):** For this chapter, none so far.

I am currently hung on Vampire Knight. Kaname/Zero anyone? I need more fics. Somebody? I've already read Blackened Wing's fics, and they are _so_ inexplicably awesome I might faint, but I need more. MORE!

I'm sure you know how I feel.

(Oh, and who's up for some vampire goodness? We're writing—and we hope this one carries through—a vampire fic right now.)

* * *

**SONATA  
Op. 07: Affrettando**

* * *

-

**(1) Otsukare.** – A shortened version of "Otsukaresama deshita!" which literally means "You've worked hard!". The implied meaning is "Thank you for the hard work." Another interchangeable phrase with it is "Gokurousama deshita."

-

* * *

-

Stiffly, Ryoma sat at the dining table. It was a nothing short of a feast. A five-course lunch, although considerably lighter than a customary dinner, was still enough to inundate him. Normally, he was one to eat a lot, but this was more than "a lot" to his vocabulary.

He had to admit, however, that the food was scrumptious. It was a traditional Western meal, and even the conversations were carried in English. Ryoma had a feeling that they were accommodating him and the culture he grew up in. It was something a person would expect off a stereotypical rich family. Each dish was prepared to please sight, smell, and taste. It was about as sure as the shining sun that they had an especially commissioned chef hired right off from the best of the best culinary institutes. He had a feeling the Atobe family wouldn't settle for less. (Goodness, if he had _their_ money, he wouldn't settle for less either.)

Thanking his mother for charm school (read: boot camp), he very elegantly dug into his dessert with gusto. Triple chocolate cake with French mocha cream—what a better way to conclude a wonderful lunch! He was fit and full to the brimming, but there's always space for a little more cake. Especially one made out of chocolate.

"So, Echizen-kun," Atobe Ichiro, Keigo's father (who could may well have been the son's clone), said from the head of the table. The middle-aged man had a smart look about him, the air that most businessmen held. He gently dabbed at the corner of his mouth with the napkin. "I heard Keigo will be accompanying you for the concours this year. You must be quite something to be able to convince this stubborn young man to accompany you."

_Yes, sir, Fuji and Yukimura are both certainly something._ Apparently, Keigo had neglected to tell his parents that it was not Ryoma who directly asked for help and that it was Fuji who mediated and negotiated (in Fuji terms, of course) the entire thing.

Atobe Saiko smiled indulgently. "He certainly is very charming," she remarked, and Ryoma noted a hint of British in her accent. Perhaps she's been to London, he thought. He always felt a sort of kinship with whoever has stepped within his home city. "I've no doubt Keigo was taken with him at first sight!"

A look of horror flitted momentarily over Keigo's face, and he minutely choked over his food. He sent an affronted glare™ to his mother.

Before Keigo could utter a single word, however, Ryoma bit in with a smirk, "Oh, you would never believe it—he was the one who asked to be my pianist!"

Horrified, Keigo countered, "I did not!"

"Oh, yes, you did," Ryoma shot back with an even wider smirk™.

Reaching over, Saiko patted Keigo's hand comfortingly. "Ah, no need to be shy now, Keigo."

"Wh—I have nothing to be shy about, mother—"

"You know your father and I aren't particularly strict about these matters," Saiko continued without pause, as if Keigo hadn't spoken at all. All the while, Ryoma's smirk was growing wider by the second. Saiko glanced over at Ichiro fondly. "Love is love, no, darling?" Ichiro nodded.

Ryoma inwardly winced, having found another similarity between him and the Royal Monkey. Apparently, they had the same breed of mothers. (Or perhaps it was just the female race being so contagious that they seem to rub off genes on everything they touched?)

"_Love_ is taking it a bit too far, mother," Keigo said, struggling to maintain composure.

Nodding, Saiko placated Keigo. "Of course, darling. Of course. But just so you know, we approve. Had Ryoma-kun been a young lady, I would have made her your bride in a snap!" For emphasis, she snapped her fingers—which were as tapered and well-cared for as Keigo's fingers were. Ryoma had the nagging suspicion that Saiko was a pianist herself.

Ichiro nodded in agreement, sipping on his English tea. "If he had been a girl, I'd have given you permission to marry."

Snickers erupted from Ryoma as he watched Keigo's eyebrow tick dangerously. He wasn't bothered in the least, but apparently, Keigo was.

"This is what I hate about bringing home school _acquaintances_," ground Keigo through gritted teeth, his face as red as a beet root. "Mother, you know I absolutely loathe it when you start saying these things. Echizen is a mere _acquaintance_—nothing that warrants a _friendship_ label on our relationship. Those little tags come expensive. But you go ahead and _embarrass_ me, and then—and then you claim diplomatic immunity!"

"Oh, so you _are_ thinking of building up your current relationship with Echizen-kun," Saiko parried smugly.

"Mother!"

Ryoma cracked up. If anything, Atobe Keigo had a way with words.

-

* * *

-

Yukimura could may well have been accused of loitering in front of the dormitory front doors. He'd finished everything he needed to finish for schoolwork and council work, and he intended to come up to his promise with Ryoma. They would spend the rest of the afternoon and evening lying around in bed with huge steaming mugs of hot chocolate and some Bach and Chopin to soothe their ears.

As soon as the sleek black limousine swept into the driveway—effectively calling the attention of the entire vicinity—he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against and readjusted his scarf around his neck. With a smile, he made for the slowly halting car to greet his pet—only to find that approaching the car was really not necessary.

The millisecond the door slid open, Ryoma shot out of the car with his bag and violin case, heading straight for Yukimura's arms. Chuckling heartily, Yukimura enveloped the teen in a bearhug. "Okaeri, Ryoma-chan!"

A sighing Keigo slowly climbed out of the limousine, flipping his hair (which was totally just for show). "I am quite sure the brat needs excess pampering before he stops clinging, Yukimura. I cannot stand any more of his whining. Take care of it; it's now officially your problem."

"Otsukare," (1) Yukimura smiled at Keigo, who simply sniffed and strode past them into the building. One servant followed after the diva with a bag in hand, and the rest went back into the limousine and drove away.

Just then, Ryoma spoke through Yukimura's jacket, his voice muffled, but the words as clear as day to Yukimura's ears. "Karupin, bed, hot chocolate."

"Of course. Come," Yukimura said, ushering the teen into the building. He had a hand on Ryoma's shoulder as they stepped into the elevator. "Did you have fun?"

"Fun?" snorted Ryoma. "Yes, lots of bloody fun tearing my hair off in annoyance."

"Yes, well, To-Be-chan's known to have that effect on most people." The cellist fished a Lindor ball from his pocket and handed it to Ryoma. "Have you decided on a piece yet?"

"Brahms' Violin Sonata No. 3."

"Oooh!" Yukimura crooned in delight. "Absolutely lovely—Fuji-kun must know! Don't you worry, Ryoma-chan—I'll be sure to bring my videocam to film you play!"

_Yes, absolutely bloody lovely,_ Ryoma sighed inwardly. _Perhaps this is my cue to start running?_

"But that's quite strange," Yukimura remarked as they got off the elevator and headed for Ryoma's rooms. "I was certain you wanted Grieg's Anitra."

"We had to come to a… compromise."

"A compromise," the cellist repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"A compromise," Ryoma grunted.

"Huh," Yukimura silently muttered under his breath, opening the door for Ryoma, who was immediately greeted with a purring ball of love. "I guess the end of the world is nearer than I thought. Oh well."

Ryoma was not exactly paying attention to him as he arranged the hot chocolate in the mini-kitchen within Ryoma's room. The boy was far more preoccupied with the bed and with his cat. Ryoma, in Yukimura's opinion, mirrored his cat completely. In fact, Yukimura was inclined to believe that on certain days, Ryoma's inherited cat genes from Karupin were activated and on full blast. Those days were usually the days when he tended to be the most clingy and grouchy towards other people he was not familiar to.

The boy also had curious gifts that one could easily attribute to said cat genes. The above average eyesight was a fine example of it. Ryoma's eyesight was perfect—even better than perfect on certain days. He also had an acute sense of hearing, which came in handy with his profession. They were, after all, people of sounds.

"Hai. Hot chocolate with peppermint and a hint of vanilla," Yukimura offered a huge mug to an already undressed Ryoma snuggled in between covers with his cat. The boy accepted it and took a sip, humming in appreciation.

"You make the best hot chocolate in the world."

"Why, thank you," smiled the cellist, shedding his indoor slippers and pullover sweater. He slid under sheets with Ryoma. "So, Ryoma-chan. Tell me about your day."

Ryoma scowled a mighty scowl. "Why don't _you_ tell me about _yours_?"

"You'd be bored," Yukimura sighed dramatically, fiddling with a lock of Ryoma's green-tinged dark hair. What a curious mix of color it was. "I did nothing but paperwork. All the boring stuff I ditched in order to snuggle with my beloved nyanko-chan."

"Don't call me that."

"So tell me about your day!"

Ryoma simply grumbled, sinking deeper under the bed overflowing with fluffs and pillows. He felt Karupin nestle against his side, purring contentedly with the more than adequate heat supply.

_Can't he see that I don't want to recount the most horrible day of my life? Atobe Keigo makes my blood boil. This has to be the worst day in my entire life. _The_ worst. Ever._

"I'm sure things could have gone worse, Ryoma-chan," sighed Yukimura, tapping the violinist's forehead and smoothing away the crumples and creases.

"Are you telepathic?"

"According to Inui-kun's statistics, yes, I am," Yukimura replied promptly, before continuing, "You know, you could have been paired with someone so much worse than To-Be-chan. And imagine how much work you'd have to do then! You'd have to slow down to accommodate a partner that doesn't suit you at all. It was quite lucky that Fuji-kun caught To-Be-chan before he signed himself off to be someone else's partner—or to not be anyone's partner at all."

Grudgingly, Ryoma knew there was logic behind Yukimura's argument. He would not be able to perform properly with a partner who could not keep up.

"Within this institute, the only pianists worthy of accompanying you are Tezuka-kun, To-Be-chan, and Fuji-kun. Jiroh-kun and Niou-kun are still in the process of developing their skills. You are already ahead of them."

"Who are they? I don't know them. And wait—Fuji plays the piano?"

"It used to be his foremost instrument until he fell for the violin," Yukimura simply explained. "He is quite good at it, too. He plays Liszt and Chopin flawlessly—as if he was made for the keys."

"I didn't know that." Ryoma looked up at Yukimura as if asking for a better explanation, but Yukimura clearly refused to say anymore. If Ryoma wanted to know, he would have to talk to Fuji himself. That in itself would be an interesting thing.

Yukimura could see that Ryoma was currently attached to four people within the campus. Different kinds of attachments with varying degrees of intensity and strength, but they were there nonetheless. There was Tezuka, with whom Ryoma was completely smitten. And then there was Atobe Keigo, a new yet not-so-new character in Ryoma's increasingly turbulent social life—there was a mixture of kinship and irate affection between the two.

He himself was a strong (and possibly permanent) attachment—and Yukimura could not help but pat himself on the back for a job well done. He had managed to flawlessly attach _the_ Echizen Ryoma to his side. Now he was guaranteed a respite from boredom whenever he wanted it. Ryoma was attached to him through affection and pampering—his pampering was exactly what Ryoma's kind needed.

The fourth attachment, however, would come in the form of Fuji Syuusuke. Right now, Fuji and Ryoma were only related through him and the concours. But sooner or later, Ryoma was bound to clash paths against the tensai, and Yukimura was very much looking forward to it. The entire ordeal would probably be hard on Ryoma, but it was necessary for his growth (and for Yukimura's amusement). And besides, it wasn't like Ryoma would entirely be on his own.

"Hey. You're spacing out," Ryoma sharply said with a poke to the ribs. "Why are you looking at me like that? Stop it! I'm warning you—keep your hands to yourself!"

"Aww, but Ryoma-chaaaaan," whined Yukimura. "You don't want to tell me about your day, so I'm just settling for admiring you!"

"Admiring—you're practically undressing me with your eyes!"

"Well, you certainly _are_ delectable enough for my interest," Yukimura huskily whispered, raking smoldering eyes down Ryoma's flimsily clad form. The thin and overly large sleeping shirt rode up slightly to reveal smooth thighs—he could swear even the apathetic Tezuka would be tempted.

Scowl deepening, Ryoma pulled a blanket up to cover himself. He took a sip of his hot chocolate. "I didn't know your little chest of strange fetishes included pedophilia."

Yukimura laughed merrily. "Yes, well, there's more to my 'little chest of strange fetishes' than meets the eye. So will you tell me about your day now?" He nudged the boy gently. "Please?"

Ryoma glared at him. He smiled back.

"…I hate you."

"And I love you too, darling."

-

"_No!" Ryoma stubbornly refused, crossing his arms. "I don't want to lose precious sleep time over Brahms' sonata!"_

"_When will you listen to what I'm saying?" sighed Keigo, who was nursing an inevitable headache. "You can't play something as simple as Anitra's Dance. Imagine what it would do to __my__ reputation! They're all expecting __us __to play something grand—something that reflects how good of a player you are!"_

"_So you _finally_ admit that you recognize my talents are above yours," leered Ryoma._

_Keigo sniffed in indignation. "Never, brat. Ore-sama will always be above you __and I will not have my reputation dragged about because of your indolence!__ But that is beside my point. You need to choose something __as challenging__, if not Brahms' __Third__ Violin Sonata."_

"_I couldn't care less about 'reputation' even if I wanted to, monkey king," snorted Ryoma, lazily reclining against the velvet couch. "Who cares what all those irrelevant people think? I can live well enough without them."_

"_Ah, I see." Keigo raised a perfect eyebrow. "So you don't care what the media thinks?"_

"_No, not really."_

"_You don't care if the audience thinks your performance __is atrocious__?"_

"_I don't care."_

"_Then you don't care if you don't get into the orchestra."_

"_I don't--…"_

"_Tezuka will be disappointed." Keigo did not believe Fuji when the tensai said that using Tezuka to counter Ryoma's inherent stubbornness would be effective, but it was the only card he had left to bet on. The __insufferable __child was proving to be a real challenge. "He was quite eager to see your performance. Yukimura was similarly anxious to have you in the orchestra with him," he added for effect._

_Ryoma was silent in deep thought, a small frown on his face. Just then, Keigo's parents walked into the room, a maidservant bearing tea and cookies following behind them._

"_Keigo, Ryoma-kun, would you two care to join us for tea?" Saiko asked with a coaxing smile that had both musicians rising from their seats and walking towards the prepared table near the veranda. Ryoma dearly missed afternoon tea. Classes on campus prevented him from actually setting the habit of having afternoon tea, as was tradition within the Echizen household in London. "Have the two of you decided on a piece yet?"_

"_Not yet," Keigo answered, sending a silent glare to the violinist he was supposed to… _accompany._ "The__…__ child is being stubborn."_

"_Keigo!" Saiko reprimanded. "Play nice!"_

_Rolling his eyes, Keigo sat himself. Beside him, Ryoma was evidently still in deep thought. He sighed. "There's no real need to play the entire piece, brat. Choose a movement."_

"_Adagio."_

"_No—it's too… dull."_

"_But you said I can choose!"_

"_We will do the fourth movement."_

"_Presto agitato? No! I'm already tight on sleeping time as it is! And Karupin has been complaining about how I seem to not spend time with him anymore!"_

"_It's not that difficult—you've played harder pieces before, I'm sure," Keigo assuaged. He had no idea who Karupin was, but he could care less—he refused to be put aside for someone with such a __terribly uncouth__ name. "This will hardly be a challenge. Or are you telling me you can't do it?"_

_The scowl on Ryoma's face was darker than black. "I said no such thing."_

"_Well, then, I see no reason for you to refuse," Keigo smirked. "It will be a good boost. And I assure you that __with my skills, __you will __indubitably__ top the ranks—of course, subsequently leading to your acceptance into the orchestra."_

_Ryoma remained silent, his glare permanently etched upon his face. He was being forced into the monkey king's will, and he could do nothing about it—the monkey's reasoning made sense. If he wanted to make a good and lasting impression, he had to give a groundbreaking performance. There was no reason to refuse Brahms' Violin Sonata—it was perfect to showcase both the violinist's skills and the harmony between the two players. With Brahms' Violin Sonatas, one couldn't just look at the violinist and see the whole picture. The sonatas were made for both the piano _and _the violin—there was no real "accompanying" the piece. It was more of a duet rather than a lead vocalist and a background._

_That was also a part of why Keigo wanted the piece so bad—he could see that the monkey was a spotlight lover and would never stand for being overshadowed. (Later, perhaps, he could retaliate and bully the monkey into performing a piece that _would_ let the violin tower over the piano—oh, what fun it would be to gloat over the insufferable diva!)_

_Huffing, Ryoma snatched a cookie and brought it to his mouth. "Don't be lagging behind, then, monkey __king__."_

_He did not fail to catch the full blast of Keigo's triumphant smirk._

-

"…and I just _know_ he was mentally mocking me right there!" Ryoma growled, resisting the urge to rip out his hair. "That insufferable monkey!"

Laughing, Yukimura took the empty mug from Ryoma's hands and placed it on the bedside table. He was only even more eager to see the performance. The fourth movement, Presto Agitato, of Brahms' Violin Sonata No. 3 was a wonderful piece and perfectly suited for Keigo and Ryoma. The music reflected a struggle between the two instruments—a struggle that was just oh so similar to the tug of war between the violinist and the pianist.

"I'll be looking forward to it, Ryoma-chan," he murmured, pressing a comforting peck on Ryoma's cheek. "I understand that To-Be-chan can be quite a handful, but he's really a good pianist. He's not one to disappoint."

"But he's so—aargh!!"

The rest of Yukimura's evening was spent listening to a litany of curses from Ryoma.

-

* * *

-

Yuushi watched as Keigo settled into the chair with a sigh. He had to hand it to Echizen Ryoma— as far as he knew, no one had ever been able to annoy, anger, and tire _the_ King _this_ much. Reminding himself every few seconds to tread carefully, he handed the paperwork to Keigo. Both of them had missed the earlier business meeting—he had his first practice session for the concours, and Keigo was busy with Ryoma—which meant that both of them had catching up to do.

Most of the time, he and Keigo worked in tandem. Both of their fathers were old partners within the business field, and no matter how much they detested the paperwork, this was what they were going to inherit once they stepped into the adult world. Both of them were taking business courses at Toudai, but he had to admit that they spent more time on music.

"How was practice?" Keigo asked out of the blue, startling him out of his reverie. The diva was diligently—and rather resignedly—looking over the paperwork.

"As well as can be expected," sighed Yuushi. "Jiroh's still quite sleepy. He complained that the break was not long enough."

"You know how to wake him and keep him lucid enough to be playing." Keigo did not even bat an eyelash when Yuushi rearranged the pile of finished folders on the table. This was routine for both of them—there was no need for formalities.

"If only he wasn't so sleepy all the time… he's well on his way to becoming one of the best on campus. His polonaises and minuets are always so flawless it's almost near Tezuka's level."

"Before he becomes on par with Tezuka, he'll have to overcome Fuji first," Keigo pointed out blandly.

"Ah, yes, Fuji," nodded Yuushi. "He's quite impressive with the piano too, from what I hear."

"He's the type that can be perfect in whatever he does." Keigo then scoffed, snapping a folder shut as he finished with it. "He's nowhere near ore-sama, however. Ore-sama is beyond perfection."

Shaking his head, Yuushi conceded. There was no use arguing with the King—one was only bound to lose.

"Who do you think is better?" Yuushi asked curiously. He knew that this question would most probably lead Keigo into a rant (which was like a downhill stone—near unstoppable once it began) but he could not help himself. He gathered even an ever careful person like he had daredevil personas as well. "Echizen Ryoma, or Fuji?"

Gently, Keigo's pen halted in the middle of making a note. Yuushi couldn't see Keigo's facial expression all that well, for the King kept his head low, but he knew that Keigo was thinking—and thinking very deeply.

_Ah, so even he is taking Echizen Ryoma's presence's consequences seriously as well. Rivalries and competitions are bound to get more heated with such a famous and influential image in the center of the campus' attention. Even Keigo was not unaffected._

"It's far too early for that child," Keigo said, letting his pen down and leaning back. He retracted his hands from the table and laced his fingers in front of his face, looking up at the ceiling in deep thought. "He has skill and a mountain of potential—even I can admit to that. But it's far too early for him to best Fuji. Fuji… well… Fuji is something else. Honestly speaking, Fuji is currently on level with me and Tezuka and Yukimura—I recognize that. His skills are something else, and his experience as well—though the brat probably won't lose at that."

Keigo reached for his mug of coffee—caffeine was just about the only thing keeping his head above water right now. He was tired, and he yearned for bed and blissful rest—but the rest of the world was not about to give him what he wanted. When did it ever?

"There are some things the brat still does not understand yet, and those are big lessons he will have to learn as he grows. Ryuuzaki-sensei and Echizen Nanjiroh made a good choice by sending him here, a place where he can cross paths with other musicians his same age group but of different backgrounds and talents. If anything, this campus is diverse. He will learn a lot; that I'm sure of. It probably won't be easy, but if he wants to grow, he'll have to stand through."

By this time, Yuushi's eyebrows had already disappeared beyond his hairline. _The _Atobe Keigo was speaking highly of _the_ Echizen Ryoma.

It was unheard of.

"So you really _are _interested with the boy. Even if you continue to deny it so… _heatedly._"

Yuushi found himself at the receiving end of a smoldering glare.

"Just because ore-sama has acknowledged the fact that the brat has skill does not mean that ore-sama is obsessed with him."

"Whatever you say, Keigo. Whatever you say," Yuushi chuckled. _But I'm quite sure I never used the word 'obsesssed'_.

-

* * *

**To Be Continued**_  
(__R__evised Version)_

* * *

**Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria**_  
First Draft: 04.21.08__  
Uploaded: 04.24.08  
Last Revised: __04.21.08_


	9. Op 08: Crescendo

**Concerto**  
Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer(s):** Standard disclaimers apply.

**Warning(s):** Not much for this chapter.

We've been getting requests of **more Tezuka** in the story, but guys. You've got to trust us. Tezuka will turn up when it's his time. Right now, the focus is still widening. Ryoma initially thought that by going to Tokyo Ondai, he will meet with Tezuka and his life will intertwine _only_ with Tezuka. We're slowly making him see that that's not the case. Tezuka will come soon. Just trust us on the plot development, okay?

Also, Kia-chan has finished writing the seven-part story exclusively on LiveJournal named "The City of the Wind". It was received very well by the LJ readers, and Kia-chan is very glad for that—those who have yet to read it, hurry and get a move on! The story (along with this little Bleach story we're currently preoccupied with) has taken much of the writer Kia-chan's time, and thus Concerto was on the verge of being ignored (read: was completely abandoned), but Kia-chan is back after having a Nodame Cantabile re-marathon.

* * *

**SONATA  
Op. 08: Crescendo**

* * *

**(1) Konbanwa. – **Good evening.**  
(2) Oba-sama** – Aunt**  
(3) Oji**-**sama** – Uncle

* * *

-

Ryoma never did really feel any affinity for those tacky high school movies with vain brainless girls featured front and center. He was also home schooled, and thus was unfamiliar with how fast the seemingly built-in and incredibly resilient gossip webs within most schools could spread news.

As a result, Ryoma was nothing short of surprised when the following morning. The entire campus was buzzing of the latest juicy news which, unsurprisingly enough, included him and that abomination, Atobe Keigo. He had known that gossips and rumors were born with fast feet, but this was just beyond his expectations.

Just _one _night had passed since—barely over twelve hours, really—but every single soul within the campus seemingly knew about his little trip to the Atobe manor. It only took a day for the news of his "partnership" with Atobe Keigo to leak through corners, and now the time interval seemed to have shortened. Was it just him, or were those fast little feet getting even faster?

He sighed as he trudged through the hallways, trying his best to ignore the curious gazes and avoid the annoying bold questions. There were still a few students who were brave enough to approach him despite his seemingly unapproachable aura—but that only served to irritate him even more.

If he put some thought into it, he gathered he could understand why they were so curious. He was a world-famous artist who graced this little inconsequential campus for some unfathomable reason, and here he was being partnered with Atobe Keigo, a famous pianist himself and blooming businessman with quite a reputation of his own. Any sane being would be interested, even just a tiny bit.

_But there's no need to put up such a fanfare about it!_

Pulling up a ferocious glare that cleared the entire hallway for him to pass, he headed for his silent quarters. His classes were over for the day, and though he wasn't exactly tired, he wanted somewhere quiet to rest and think. He needed to start rehearsing as well. He certainly didn't want to be mocked by the purple monkey king again.

As soon as he entered the room, Karupin darted out from under his chair and twined around his legs, purring and rubbing, seeking attention. He pulled the cat to his chest, cuddling it and murmuring silent apologies. He disliked having to keep the cat trapped indoors like this. Karupin was used to their home in London, where he was allowed to wander around their little quarter. The cat knew his way around the neighborhood, and always came back home obediently when he was called. At least, over there, he was free to roam about.

_I guess we're on the same boat, Karupin,_ he thought absently, shedding his bag and his thick sweater. _We're both trapped here._

Collapsing on the bed, he let go of Karupin, who settled beside him. There were several things to be done. The steady lull of mundane schooldays was settling in within the campus, and with it came the steady barrage of assignments and papers. He also had to call his mother (which meant that he would have to allow a few hours of his time to phone conversation) or she would throw a fit. And the part he disliked the most—he would have to start practicing and memorizing the piece he would perform for the concours.

He groaned.

He was tired. Angry. Upset. Confused. Irritated. Impatient. Disappointed. Bored. He could swear he was just about experiencing every single emotion on the negative side of the continuum. Ryoga would never again be able to claim to the rest of the world—or to those of the world who bothered to listen to what the idiot would say, anyway—that he was emotionally constipated.

He thought up as many cutting comments he could throw at that monkey king's face when they saw each other again—which, unfortunately for him, was inevitably way sooner than he wanted it to be. According to the Universal Book of Ryoma Cures, this was the easiest way to siphon off negative energy—to direct it towards someone who was worthy of being its target. Right now, within Echizen Ryoma's world, no one else was worthier than his Monkey-ness himself, Atobe Keigo. He was just the perfect target any frustrated violin prodigy would want.

"Nyanko-chan. You'll ruin your pillow if you continue to wring it like that," a familiar, gentle voice chuckled from above him. He didn't even need to turn and open his eyes to see who it was.

"Then give me that monkey's neck so I can wring it instead," he growled. "And _don't_ call me that!"

"To-Be-chan said that your next practice session would probably be tomorrow or the day after," Yukimura calmly replied, prying the pillow away from Ryoma's abusive hands. "You'll have to go over to the manor again."

"Bloody wonderful," Ryoma grunted bleakly.

"Have you started practicing yet?" The cellist bustled about in the small kitchen to make them some tea. "Yuushi-kun tells me that To-Be-chan has already started his own practice. You don't want to lag behind, else To-Be-chan will only tease you more."

"Like I'm gonna lose to that monkey," Ryoma sniffed indignantly, rising from the bed. "I'm hungry."

"What do you want?"

"Pasta."

"The cafeteria serves good lasagna. Do you want to go and get some? I haven't had dinner yet myself, though it is a bit early…" Yukimura absently handed Ryoma his sweater. "We can pick them up and take them up here easy enough, if you don't want to stay downstairs."

Ryoma merely grunted in reply, shrugging into the warm snug sweater and blearily setting himself on two feet. He never was aware of how tiring life could be. Even during his rigorous international tours, he never was this tired. He was pampered, well cared for, and practically stress-free. But right now, within this small campus in the heart of Japan, his emotional capacity and patience were both being stretched to the limit. Stress was practically piling up on his shoulders; if they were physically manifested, he would bet a thousand they would be blocks of concrete loaded over his head.

He didn't know if it was his imagination working wonders again, but a hush descended upon the cafeteria when they entered. After about a second's worth of held breath, the chatter returned tenfold in noise, and immediately his hands went up to cover his ears.

"Ara," Yukimura muttered. "Well, aren't we just lively tonight. Nyanko-chan, wait for me in the lounge, okay? I'll take care of dinner and dessert. I won't be long."

With a gentle shove towards the lounge's direction, Yukimura disappeared into the deeper recesses of the noisy cafeteria. Ryoma sighed. He was not exactly afraid of the people or of what they might say. It was more along the lines of protecting his ears from noise and abuse.

He trudged towards the lounge, one of his favored places within campus. The lounge was known to every soul within the campus to be a territory of the elites. It was undeclared—no official written creed prevented ordinary students from entering and using it. But since the higher ranked students kept using the place so often, it somehow became ingrained into the population. This place was off-limits for "normal" people.

The lounge had high arcing windows with cushioned seats installed at the base, providing perfect views of the gardens and courtyards. Yukimura often mentioned how breathtaking it was during the spring and fall seasons. There were small tables, large tables, couches, and a fireplace. There were even bookshelves on the walls. It was a place for rest, one of the more orderly places within the campus.

Ever since he had arrived and Yukimura had shown him the lounge, he had declared one of the window seats as his own and sat there almost everyday whenever he had time to while away in between classes. No one really complained about his presence; if anything, it was understood that he had the right to assert himself. He _was_ Echizen Ryoma, after all.

With a sigh, he glanced down at the music book within his hands. As if initially intending for him to be left behind in the lounge, Yukimura had asked him to bring the book along to have something to occupy himself with. The cover read: "Brahms – Sonaten für Klavier und Violine / Sonatas for Piano and Violin". The page of the fourth movement of the Third Sonata was already marked, and he thumbed to it wordlessly.

As soon as his eyes met the notes, the inherent musician within him stirred and went to work. It took him barely a minute to become fully immersed into his first study of the new music. Setting an appropriate tempo, he started a mental rehearsal of the sonata's primary melody. He'd listened to this piece many times—it was one of those pieces he knew he would eventually have to play and thus prepared for in advance. It wouldn't be as difficult as he'd been whining it would be, but the whining was done simply to annoy the monkey king anyway.

He sighed. "The monkey king had better be able to follow my pace," he murmured to himself. He wasn't about to let the pianist set the pace for him. _He_ was going to lead—there was no doubt about that.

"Don't worry; Atobe is quite dependable."

Nearly jumping out of his skin, his eyes darted up to the voice's source. "T-Tezuka-kaichou…"

"Studying?" Tezuka glanced down at the music book. "I heard from Inui that you were going to play Brahms with Atobe."

Ryoma nodded with a sigh, leaning against the wall and settling the music book on his lap. "Not that I really want to."

Tezuka was seated on the couch near Ryoma's window, and thus they were near enough to see each other's facial expressions. However, it did not really do much good, since Tezuka seemed hell bent on hiding whatever was on his mind—that, or he was just naturally incapable of expressing thoughts and emotions on his visage.

"May I ask the reason for your reluctance to participate?" Tezuka silently said.

Ryoma could feel Tezuka's eyes staring into him. He sighed. Tezuka was one of the few people he couldn't even begin to attempt to dodge, one of the few who saw right through the mist. "…frankly speaking, I don't feel up to performing with my supposed partner. I don't feel like performing at the concours." He shook his head. "I'm not interested."

Looking down into his lap, Ryoma couldn't shake the feeling that he just said something wrong. He resisted the strong urge to bash his head into the window.

"Then I want you to ask yourself this question, Echizen," Tezuka began, effectively calling Ryoma's full attention. "Why do you play your violin?"

"Why…" Ryoma repeated dubiously, giving Tezuka a blank look. "…do I play?"

"Yes. Do you play because you want to be a better player? Do you play because you want to overcome someone? Do you play for the recognition and the praise? Or perhaps the rewards and the money? Do you play because someone else told you to? Or do you play because you want to?"

Ryoma was silent, contemplating upon the words fed to him. He could care less about recognition or reward. Those were inconsequential things. It was true, however, that he started playing because of familial influence. But was he still walking underneath his father's shadow?

Ryoga had already successfully pulled away from Nanjiroh. His older brother was already making a name of his own within the world. He had his own name too, as Echizen Ryoma—but was that name his and his alone, or was it only a mere offshoot from Echizen Nanjiroh?

He bowed his head. He wasn't that stupid. He knew the answer to that question. There was no real need to even think of it.

"Think about it, Echizen, but don't think too deep," Tezuka spoke once more, voice a mere hush. "You might be thinking about how you can develop your own style, but that will come as you develop your skills. The vital part is that you find the answer to that question."

"I don't see how this relates to my performance in the concours, however," Ryoma mumbled.

Had he been looking, he would have seen a brief small smile tugging on the corners of Tezuka's lips. "A key point of a musician is the ability to perform under any circumstance. Even if he is at odds with his partner, even if he dislikes the piece, even if he is not interested with the competition, he will perform. He _can_ perform—because he has a reason to do so, and that reason does not waver."

The nagging suspicion that Yukimura set this meeting up noisily clattered in the back of his mind, but Ryoma could not be bothered. It slowly dawned on him that Tezuka was trying to help him by giving advice.

"You're still on the way to discovering that reason," the pianist continued. "You'll get there, I'm sure."

Ryoma understood what Tezuka was telling him. The elder musician wanted him to treat these roadblocks standing between the two of them as opportunities to better himself and find that "_reason_", whatever it was. He didn't even need to ask how Tezuka knew about his motive for coming to the university—he hadn't exactly been clandestine about anything, after all.

His eyes once more landed upon the music book resting upon his lap, open to the first page of the Third Sonata's fourth movement. "You've played this piece before, haven't you?"

Tezuka looked up at him in slight surprise. "Aa."

A ghost of a smirk was lingering at the corners of Ryoma's lips. "Ryuuzaki-sensei had a video of you performing this when you were still playing the violin. That was the first video of you I watched." Tezuka said nothing to deny this. "I wonder if I will be able to perform it as well as you did."

"You might be able to outdo me," the pianist remarked wryly. "Who knows? I haven't seen your talent up close yet—which is why I'll be looking forward to your performance."

_Way to put more pressure on already pressured shoulders,_ Ryoma darkly grumbled. On one hand, he was glad that Tezuka thought highly of him enough to expect things, but on the other, he was annoyed. People just kept piling expectations on him—he was getting tired of it.

"Ryoma-chan?"

Ryoma and Tezuka simultaneously turned towards the door where Yukimura was balancing two trays of food. The cellist had the usual brilliant smile™ on his face, but somehow, it seemed a notch brighter than the usual.

"Ara, Tezuka-kun," Yukimura smiled, traipsing into the lounge and settling the trays on a nearby table. "You were keeping Ryoma-chan company—wonderful, wonderful! Care to join us for an early dinner? I do believe the line in the cafeteria has cleared up now." Ryoma had another nagging suspicion that Yukimura did something to make the cafeteria line disperse as well.

"I can't believe you can still be this cheerful after walking into that hell," Ryoma disbelievingly said, referring to the cafeteria's noise and relative disarray. There wasn't a single hair out of place on Yukimura's head, and it seemed he was even more cheerful than the usual.

"Anarchy is my natural habitat, nyanko-chan." The blinding smile that followed made Ryoma cringe in slight apprehension.

They waited a bit for Tezuka to fetch his own food, but soon they were digging into dinner. The cafeteria food, Ryoma had discovered about a week ago, was actually quite tasty. It was definitely well-prepared—apparently, Atobe Keigo (and Ryoma could not help but feel that the world was mocking him by having everything he thought about relate to that abomination) demanded the best of the best from the school ever since he was admitted. Of course, the board was all too wary of what would happen to the school funds if the Atobe family pulled away their support, and thus consented to whatever the diva requested.

In Ryoma's very humble opinion, the board could have made a better decision. The monkey was already spoiled as it is—there was no need to aggravate the already incurable disease.

A cough from someone nearby distracted him from his thoughts, and he lifted his eyes from his plate. Standing before them was a bespectacled young man with dark violet-tinted hair and a smart aura about him. He recognized this person as Oshitari Yuushi, a member of the student council along with Yukimura. However, apart from the person's name and student council ranking, he knew nothing else.

"Yukimura-kun, Tezuka-kun, Echizen-kun," he greeted with a smile that somehow made Ryoma want to inch back and sink into his chair. "Good evening."

"Ara, Yuushi-kun," Yukimura smiled. Tezuka merely gave an acknowledging nod. "Konbanwa. (1) What can I do for you?"

Oshitari's eyes flickered towards Ryoma, and said violinist slightly raised his hackles. The reactions only served to amuse. "Our kaichou needs to borrow your… _pet_, Yukimura. Just for a while."

It took a few seconds before Ryoma fully understood what Yuushi meant. Bristling, he rose to object. If he was not mistaken, Oshitari Yuushi was under Atobe Keigo's jurisdiction—which would only mean that the monkey had business with him _again_. He was not so eager to lose his sanity to meet with the monkey twice within twenty-four hours!

However, before he could open his mouth to refuse, Yukimura quipped, "And what would your kaichou exchange for my pet?"

The smile on Yukimura's face was indescribably wicked.

Oshitari reached up and adjusted his glasses, adopting an evil smile and pulling out a book from nowhere. Ryoma could not clearly see the book's title (it was written in French, that much he could gather), but Yukimura seemed to recognize it, for the cellist's eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. "I have taken the liberty of… _borrowing_ this book from our kaichou's personal library. I do believe this is fair enough payment for borrowing your pet for the span of a few hours?"

"I expected no less from Yuushi-kun," Yukimura smiled in delight. "However… might it be too much to ask how you will… ah, _benefit_ from this?" The cellist gestured towards Ryoma.

"I shall be leaving for a trip that will take a few days," Oshitari explained, crossing his arms. A smirk was lurking at the corners of his mouth, as if he was a chess master who was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to checkmate. "Consequently, I shall have Echizen-kun to…_ accompany_ our kaichou so they might get used to each other. _Hopefully_, by the time I return, I will not have as much risk of losing my hearing because of…" he paused, then continued on dryly, "…our _queen's_ dulcet tones."

Ryoma could not help but let out a snicker—the image of the monkey as a queen was far too overwhelming for him to be able to contain his mirth.

"I'm sure you understand how… overwhelming our kaichou can be when he is… _excited_ about something. Recently, I have found that Echizen-kun seems to be the root of most of his _excitement_, as well as his _increased_ excitability."

Ryoma almost choked on his tea, and beside him, Tezuka's hand twitched as he gently placed his fork down.

"Ah, yes, of course," Yukimura nodded empathetically, patting Oshitari's shoulder. "You know, maybe you should recommend To-Be-To-Be-chan some voice lessons. He certainly needs serious instruction to control his… inner voice, if you get my drift."

"More like have his throat ripped out to shut him up permanently," Ryoma muttered under his breath, now having resorted to stabbing what was left of his lasagna with an abused fork.

Yukimura gave an exaggerated stage gasp. "Ryoma-chan, that's not very nice!" he admonished.

"I wasn't intending on being nice."

"To-Be-To-Be-chan would never even think of planning your throat-ly demise now, would he?" Yukimura continued without missing a beat. Ryoma and Oshitari simultaneously snorted in disbelief, while Tezuka pursed his lips to prevent a reprimand from escaping. This was already commonplace. There was nothing new.

"He would probably attack me with his senseless fashion," Ryoma sneered condescendingly. "I mean, have you seen what he _wears_? His colors—he could have bathed in metallic paint! And who would have women's Cavalli shoes with shiny stuff and all that crap and actually wear them with an equally retina-burning shiny gold shirt _with leopard prints_?"

Oshitari broke into hacking coughs, a vain attempt to hide his obvious guffaws. Echizen Ryoma certainly proved to bring them worthwhile amusement within the campus by upsetting the entire order and even going so far as clashing against _the_ Diva King, his Monkey-ness Atobe Keigo.

"Echizen!" Tezuka finally reproached, although not sounding as reproachful as he could have been. Ryoma had the grace to look slightly remorseful. _Slightly_.

Yukimura pursed his lips to prevent from dissolving into a fit of giggles. His eyes, however, did not hide his overflowing mirth. "That was too much, nyanko-chan."

"No, it wasn't."

"I do believe I'll be taking your offer, Yuushi-kun," the cellist continued, turning towards Oshitari. "It seems nyanko-chan needs a little punishment for badmouthing To-Be-To-Be-chan without his bigi-ness here to defend himself."

"Wha—"

"You may keep him until I finish this book."

"EH?!"

"Thank you for your patronage," Oshitari drawled lazily, handing over the book and procuring a handcuff with an attched leash. With deft hands, he securely cuffed the stunned Ryoma. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

With that, he began the grueling job of dragging a heavily struggling Ryoma through the lounge's wide open doors. Yukimura and Tezuka were both left staring after them.

"Eh?! What?! Oi—LEGGO—I'M NOT SOME PET!! YOU TREACHEROUS DOLPHIN—hey, that _hurts_—be _careful_, damnit, my _wrist_—LEGGO!!"

"Make sure you ask To-Be-To-Be-chan to be gentle, Yuushi-kun!" Yukimura called after the two of them, a wicked smile™ still on his face. "Ryoma-chan's still _inexperienced_, after all!"

"Are you sure that's fine?" Tezuka asked worriedly.

Yukimura was already happily thumbing through his newly bartered book. "Oh, he'll be just fine. I personally think To-Be-To-Be-chan's quite dependable when it comes to Ryoma. They both seem to be a good influence on each other, no?"

Tezuka was inclined to disagree.

-

* * *

-

Seated by the hearth, Keigo savored the warmth of the fire against the chill of thawing winter. Spring was approaching in the horizon, and with it would only come the usual duties he really could not help but dread. And as if to further mock him and test his patience, there was this insistent nagging voice in the back of his head parroting warnings of far more worrisome things to come.

_As if my usual duties aren't worrisome enough,_ he sighed. There was business school to juggle with music and work, and simply thinking about the upcoming concours and his current predicament regarding said event gave him a migraine no Extra-Strength Tylenol would cure. The problem wasn't exactly with the piece or the event, for that matter. It was more along the lines of keeping his sanity in tact while simultaneously managing a civil enough _companionship_—he scoffed at the mere idea—with his ever-so-infuriating selfish partner.

He shook his head to clear it of wayward thoughts and made to focus on the music sheets he was halfway through reviewing when a muffled but nonetheless inappropriately loud yell made it to his sensitive ears. He frowned and stood.

He was already half-expecting some sort of accident or a hyperactive Jiroh yelling for him as he made his way through the well-lit hallways and into the entrance hall. However, tonight, he was to be disappointed.

"_What_ is all this—"

His eyes met the ugly sight in front of him, and he pursed his lips in a pause. Seeking to temper the frustration he could feel welling up from within him, he closed his eyes.

"Yuushi, what is the meaning of this?" The sharp question was accompanied by a sharp tone and a sharp glare.

Yuushi, however, was all but immune to Keigo's diva death glares™, and as such batted not a single eyelash in face of the adversity. "This," he tugged on the leash attached to the cuff secured around Ryoma's wrist, "is Echizen Ryoma. I believe you've been introduced, no?"

"We have," Keigo said, eyes tightening in apparent annoyance. "Yuushi, you are being difficult." The statement earned hearty grunt of support from a still struggling Ryoma. "Why is the brat _here_, in my home, on a _leash_ of all things?! I do hope there is a proper explanation for this!"

Failing to refrain from insulting the diva despite warnings from Yuushi, Ryoma barked, "Oi, you huffy monkey! Tell your bloody shadow king to take this bloody cuff off me! If my wrist is damaged in _any bloody way_, I'll butcher both of you to hell and back!"

"Ore-sama is _NOT_ a primate, you infernal brat!" Keigo indignantly said, glare on full blast. "And _you_ deserve to be kept in such a state for insulting ore-sama's person and daring to even _associate_ ore-sama with such a… a _dirty animal_!"

This spurred another noisy bout of insult exchange between the two, with a poor abused Yuushi sandwiched in between. Insult after insult was thrown, until the entire household was all ears to the raucous childish squabble. The barbs ranged from simple (i.e. monkey face, spoiled brat) to plain silly (i.e. snot-faced imp, snub-nosed ape) to needlessly wordy (i.e. gaudy lascivious wretch of a purple-furred baboon, insolent and utterly negligible unctuous little goblin).

When Ryoma threw "apeman with the tiny asshole" up at Keigo (which was rebuffed by "doubly vertically challenged bean"), Yuushi finally snapped.

"_Before you inflict brain hemorrhage on yourselves with your very heartfelt greetings,_" Yuushi called over the din. Twin glares redirected themselves to him, but he continued relentlessly. "The two of you will be practicing for the weekend—" Both Keigo and Ryoma opened their mouths to protest, but both were efficiently cut off, Yuushi's nearly matchless skill at handling temper tantrums from the worst of the worst having been honed by years of experience. "—yes, _gentlemen_, that means the rest of today AND all of tomorrow, and until Sunday evening—"

Immediately, the two counterparts spat acid rebuffs simultaneously.

"I _refuse_ to lower myself to spending an _entire weekend_—one that could be put to better use, at that—with an insufferable ingrate like _him_!" "I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll willingly blind myself with this Java Man's snub-nosed blinding glory!"

There was a pause.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, BRAT?" "WHAT WAS THAT, MONKEY?"

"—to prepare for the concours," Yuushi continued, as if there had been no pause at all. He gave them a smile that was so eerily similar to Yukimura and Fuji's trademark smiles and yet so fundamentally different that it made Ryoma unconsciously step back. It was as if there was a different kind of shadow behind this smile, one that Ryoma was not really very eager to explore. "Yes, you will be… _tolerating_ each other's presence for the entire weekend. If this does not come up to your standards—"

"It most certainly does not!"

"—then you make take it up with your very own close protection officers," Yuushi smiled triumphantly as Keigo deflated—twenty guards who could all have been pulled straight out of MIB were suddenly flanking the manor's wide open doors. "Oba-sama (2) has given her consent and allowed me to borrow the mansion and I have ensured you a squad of the Oshitari Corps in order to… ah, _secure_ the two of you. Also, Keigo, your parents shall be joining me in Hokkaido for a weekend vacation—skiing shall be fun, what with all this snowfall this year—isn't that convenient? With that, the two of you should be able to… _concentrate._" Yuushi flashed another smile, and Ryoma caught the implied leftover: Or else.

"What?! But—Yuushi—you—argh!!"

"Can't even form a coherent sentence—I wonder just how tiny this ape man's brain is—"

"Silence, snot-face," barked Keigo. "Yuushi! I have _delicate_ paperwork to tend to!"

"Which is taken care of," Yuushi promptly followed. "Oji-sama (3) is willing to lighten your load for the time being while you are participating in the concours. Both he and oba-sama seem to have taken a liking to Echizen-kun—_and_ we have… _invested_ a rather large amount of money on Echizen Ryoma's definite win, which would boost both the school's reputation and Keigo's reputation. We will _not_ allow him to lose face at such a crucial time."

Most normal people would preen at the fact that such well-known people were recognizing his or her talents, but Ryoma was not to be fooled. Bristling, he spat, "You placed _bets_ on me?! What am I, a fucking thoroughbred?!"

Yuushi leveled the younger performer with a serious gaze. "You will be—no, you _already_ are the face of Tokyo Ondai. Both your father and your manager-mother agreed that this step is necessary for your growth in such a cutthroat industry."

"Regardless, I will _not_ be your bloody fucking poster boy!"

"There is no need to splash your pretty face on a poster, rest assured," Yuushi drawled, more relaxed but still completely serious. It was as if he had already anticipated this kind of argument and prepared for it beforehand. "Should you win (which I will do everything to ensure, short of a direct disobedience of the law), the growth of your already celebrated talent in our school will be out in the open for everyone to see. That will be more than enough to guarantee a 9.87 percent rise on serious student applications for the following term alone. We only want those who are serious about music to apply. We've no need for fans who simply wish to ogle at your pretty face."

Ryoma and Keigo both stood motionless, staring at the dubbed Shadow King. Yuushi grabbed Ryoma's arm, bodily dragged the boy towards Keigo, and promptly removed the cuff from the abused wrist. He turned to the butler. "Get the nurse to check our guest's wrist."

"If you hadn't _cuffed_ me, there would be no need for nurses in the first place!" Ryoma hotly said, but he was ignored.

"I will leave you two to be," Yuushi said, leveling them both with grim eyes. "I expect the two of you to at the very least have the decency to abandon your childish behaviors and be _civil_ to each other. You will need to work together if you have no wish to embarrass yourself in the concours."

Keigo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you honestly believe I would make a fool myself, Yuushi? In front of people?"

"No, of course not," Yuushi smugly said. "But I do believe that when you wish to be, you can pull up an obstinacy I have only ever witnessed in rocks. And this beloved obstinacy of yours can subsequently make simple things as difficult as getting you to humble yourself—which is near impossible, might I add. So I am simply making sure you accomplish what you need to accomplish as soon as you can and not waste time on dawdling."

Yuushi then turned to Ryoma. "Yukimura will most probably stop by and bring your things. Do not disappoint us, Echizen-kun."

With naught a single backwards glance, Yuushi turned and stalked out of the entrance hall, a smug smirk on his face. Keigo and Ryoma were both left staring at his back, partly incredulous, partly annoyed.

Thus began the Worst Weekend in Atobe Keigo's Entire Lifetime.

-

* * *

**Tsuzuku**_  
(Revised Version)_

* * *

**Kiasidira Ixari & Aventria**_  
First Draft: 02 June 2008  
Uploaded: 02 June 2008  
Last Revised: 02 June 2008_


	10. Op 09: Frivolo

**Concerto**  
Kia Ixari & Aventria

**Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimer applies.

**Warning(s):** None for this chapter.

Yet again, we seem to have stalled for this chapter. Kia-chan has been… busy. But no worries, for Kia-chan is back. Oh, and we have launched that Bleach story I was harping on about. Read! (Though of course, those of you who have us on alert probably already know that and probably already _have_ read the story.)

Again, we're sorry for these delays. Kia-chan has not been giving the same output as before—not as much and as fast writing as before. (I look and analyze my words far too much. I should leave that to the editor, but the editor is unreliable at best. So.)

[The aforementioned editor: Oi! I'm not the one who turned down my overly criticizing brain.]

**On Music of Concerto: **We have updated the music download page to host more of the music we're to mention in this chapter. _I strongly suggest downloading Liszt's Un Sospiro and listening to it while reading the latter part._

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_**SONATA  
Op. 09: Frivolo

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**(1) hade** – Lit: gaudy, flashy (the extreme and blinding kind).

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It was all Ryoma could do not to commit suicide. The utter idiocy of it all was so overwhelming that he was convinced the entire ordeal was a living nightmare. Then again, when it came to stupidity, there was, most probably, no known limit to humans, especially _this_ human. Ryoma could not help but feel a twinge of pity.

There were certain things still falling within his limited threshold for pain, within what was left of the very narrow tolerance he was given. The bodyguards, for instance, were okay, despite the slightly creepy prickling feeling he would feel on the back of his neck every now and then, as if his each and every single move was being monitored from some obscure dark corner of the mansion. (Which they were, actually.) Several times he missed notes purely because of the unbidden shiver that would shimmy down his spine—and he would get a thorough scolding for each one by none other than His Majesty the Monkey King himself.

Now that part—the Monkey King part—went _way_ beyond any semblance of tolerance he had left. As far as his knowledge went, the ape had no right whatsoever to be scolding him for every little mistake he made—it wasn't as if the ape himself did not commit his own set of mistakes! (He had to admit, though, that the ape was very thorough when it came to music and its perfection. That much he could respect.)

It took him half a day before the reason behind the flawless performances the ape kept pulling off dawned to him—and for Ryoma, this was unexpectedly slow (especially given the ape was of consideration). The Monkey King was an absolutely shameless _exhibitionist!_

He'd almost choked on a glass of refreshing water.

He kept convincing himself that it wasn't something he should even be faintly surprised about, but he could not help it—the non-inherent good side of him kept wanting to believe that the Monkey's psychological complexes stopped at the overly blown-up ego (which, by the way, had very little control of his greedy and self-absorbed Id) and the horrid prissy-ness. Surely, even for the worst set of genes, more than that was too much!

The epiphany made Ryoma even more desperate to escape from the cage (otherwise known as the Monkey's mansion) and end his suffering (otherwise known as the Monkey himself). He wanted nothing more but the soothing company of his beloved Karupin and the peace and silence of his room in London. This wasn't the first time he'd wanted to go home, but it was the first time he had wished for reprise so desperately that the thought of abandoning the score with Tezuka actually crossed his mind. (He inwardly—note "inwardly", for he would rather shrivel and die than voice this out loud—praised the Monkey for being able to push him so far.)

Much to his relief, Yukimura later graced the mansion with his presence, bringing along with him Fuji (who was all eagerness and joy to be a witness to Ryoma's suffering) and a mewling Karupin. Ryoma could have kissed Yukimura right then and there—at the moment, the one thing that would be able to soothe his frayed temper and poor abused soul was his cat.

Dinner was, of course, a most interesting affair. The food was simply heavenly, as if they were made by the best chefs in the world. (Come to think of it, they probably _were_ made by the best chefs in the world. Ryoma made a note to steal some of those chefs and keep them for himself in the future.) Yukimura's mere presence managed to hold Keigo at bay and ward off more than half the usual share of derogatory comments he dished out at Ryoma.

But ah, the brilliant catch: even if Keigo was not harping his glorious orifice off, Yukimura would _still_ be present (and let's not forget the additional Fuji), and would no doubt take advantage of the opportunity to annoy, bug, and pester Ryoma.

Like so.

"How was practice, Ryoma-chan?" Yukimura asked good-naturedly, but received no reply. Glancing over, he saw the young violinist grumbling almost inaudibly into his dessert: heavenly cupcakes inundated with unhealthy amounts of sugar from the best of the best confectioners in the world.

"That bad, huh?" Fuji chuckled.

"I'll stay for the night, then!" decided Yukimura, taking pity on the poor and abused boy. Ryoma's face darkened, earning a smile from the cellist. The smile was clearly of the "there-there-pat-pat" variety, and it remained plastered on the deceptively angelic face as Yukimura continued to croon at Ryoma.

Fuji finished the last of his dessert and turned to Keigo. "Then I shall stay as well. I'd like to get the same suite as last time."

The tensai's tone was completely devoid of any hesitation—so certain, in fact, that Ryoma had to blink. Would a person normally be so imposing upon the host's hospitality as to _demand_ a suite without so much as a blink of an eye?

"Just how many times have you been here?" Ryoma asked out of pure morbid curiosity. Who knew what took place within the mansion's dark dank corners at night, away from the rest of the world's prying eyes?

"Oh, everyone within the Student Council body has… _experienced _Atobe-kun's hospitality," Fuji explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. "This mansion is almost like a third home to us, so familiar that we feel no inhibitions at all and can ask of Atobe-kun anything we want."

The twitch of an eyebrow on the Monkey King's face clearly stated that this was a half-lie and that it was only a complete truth for the innately inhibition-free ones—namely Fuji and Yukimura. However, he was not about to deny a direct request from a guest when he was perfectly capable of granting it. With a minute nod, he sent several maids on the move to prepare said suite.

Ryoma slid his foot up and down Karupin's flank as the cat lounged underneath the table, having already finished his own dinner. Indeed, the mansion had its perks. The maids were frighteningly efficient. Every need was taken care of before he even had the chance to voice it. The food was scrumptious, and the choices were practically endless—the kitchen was always fully equipped to serve an impromptu banquet of any kind, and the chefs were well-educated and always eager to cook up any food Ryoma could ever imagine. In fact, if the Monkey could tone his ego two or three notches lower, the place would be so perfect even Yukimura would not be able to separate him from it.

"Are you to stay tomorrow as well?" he silently asked Yukimura, still absently petting Karupin with his foot.

Yukimura gave him a sad smile. "Probably not, Ryoma-chan. I have work to do. Tonight is just about the only free time I have for this weekend. It's quite hectic preparing for the festivities."

Pouting, Ryoma turned to Fuji. The dubbed genius was not Yukimura, but he was close enough. Right now, he was as close as Ryoma could possibly get. "Are _you_ to stay tomorrow?"

"If you'll have me," Fuji smiled congenially.

Ryoma beamed.

-

* * *

-

Sinking into his armchair, Keigo heaved a sigh. He felt the telltale build up of stiffness at the base of his neck, indicative of a massive migraine and a debilitating shoulder ache bound to be present the following morning. He made sure to ask his butler for the stronger painkillers. He would most definitely _not_ be messing up In front of that nettling brat. (He was pretty sure he would _never_ hear the end of it should he do so.)

Dinner was a most stressful affair, what with said bloody brat sitting in his table flanked by two formidable smiling demons. It could most probably count as the most stressful affair he'd had in about a couple of years—the usual dinner dates with powerful and influential people no longer daunted him, having been doing it since he was old enough to walk.

He did not like the prospect of having both Fuji and Yukimura over without their usual companions (read: caretakers) with them, but he had no choice—Sanada and Tezuka were both busy the entire weekend, covering for open spots left by participating students and taking on the extra load Fuji and Yukimura both forsook. Thus, he had to suffer under the pure and unadulterated poison of the infamous Demon Twins. (One could say it is an honor; very few get to experience the real torture those two could inflict on victims, unsuspecting or otherwise, without their leashes to tether them on solid ground.)

The Infernal Brat, however, seemed completely (and annoyingly) immune to the said poison. For what reason the said Demon Twins choose to favor the said brat, he could only hazard a guess. He decided he would be better off not trying to guess at all, for despite all his theatrics, he had a very healthy sense of self-preservation.

He was about to stand and undress for bed, when a loud call, seemingly from the general direction of the guest suites, broke the relative peace and silence of the manor. There was a heartbeat of absolute silence, before the scuffling, scrambling, and undignified scurrying of servants swept through the halls.

He groaned.

_I'm not going to get any sleep tonight, am I?_

_-  
_

_

* * *

_

-

"_What_ is _so_ important, Brat, that you could not afford to wait for dawn to tell the rest of the world about it?" Keigo spoke through gritted teeth.

Scowling and giving Keigo his hardest, iciest glare, Ryoma hissed, "Karupin. Is. Missing."

A pause.

"Karupin," Keigo echoed.

Another pause.

"It's his Himalayan pet cat," Yukimura supplied with an ever-benevolent smile. Keigo was not to be fooled; both Demon Twins were immensely amused, and they were not below worsening already worrisome situations if only to prolong their amusement. He'd only witnessed some of the lengths they would go to, but even then, he wasn't sure he wanted to witness _more._

Keigo took a deep, steadying breath. And began.

"In case you are not aware," he explained, "cats have extra-sensitive sensory capacities. They are _very_ much capable of finding their way through a maze and back to you, provided they are adequately familiarized with your scent. Considering how closely you _keep_ this cat to your person, I'd say, yes, it _is_ familiarized with your scent. Ergo, we will be sure to find him here, in your room, snoozing and happy, come tomorrow morning. Leave the doors partly open. Good night."

Keigo spun on his heel, his silk robe flaring at the hem, and walked past the elegantly carved birch doors. He did not notice—_chose_ not to notice—the set and unconvinced frown on Ryoma's face, all revealing of the boy's intention to search every nook and cranny of the manor in order to find his beloved cat.

Seated beside Ryoma, Fuji gently twirled a lock of Ryoma's hair around a finger. "Are we going to be engaging in recurring cat-hunts all year?"

"Not all year, Fuji-kun," Yukimura chuckled low under his breath. "We're pretty much going to be with Ryoma-chan for the rest of our musical careers, so it'll be from here on through the rest of our lives!"

"Fun times," Fuji chuckled.

"Indeed."

"I want Karupin," Ryoma declared, crossing his arms and harrumphing. "I'm not sleeping without Karupin."

"Then we'll be cat-hunting!" Gleefully, Yukimura rose from the bed and tugged Ryoma up with him, Fuji taking up their rear. They headed for the door, grabbing robes to guard them from the night's chill. "Where do you gather he would go first?"

Ryoma pointed to the left, and as a group, they stared down the cold dark hallway only illuminated by faintly glowing wall lights. "That way."

"How did you know that?" Fuji asked wonderingly.

The boy pointed down. "He was dragging along his ball of yarn." True enough, there was a thread of dark green, nondescript against the dark burgundy of the carpet.

Without waiting for either of his newly acquired caretakers, Ryoma trudged down the hallway, carefully picking up the thread and rolling it up as they went. The manor very much had the authentic European feel, what with the portraits and paintings adorning the walls. There were a few windows through which they could see the sprawling snow-cloaked garden illuminated by a generous amount of blue moonlight.

Here and there Ryoma would take the edge of a drapery retrieve a clump of fallen fur, or kneel by a door and trace his fingers over fresh scratch marks. It was as if he could see his cat passing down the very same way a couple of minutes ago, as if he knew what the cat would do and where the cat would go.

At long last, after about twenty minutes of walking around the dark and sleeping manor, they were brought to the end of the yarn. Ryoma stood at the spot where the last inch of yarn lay, fiddling with the rough end with his fingers.

"So." Fuji stepped into the ballroom, admiring the high ceilings and wide arcing windows. This wing was separate from the living quarters, made solely for guest entertainment and posh parties. He could have mistaken it for a European manor, had it not been for his overly sharp senses detecting the distinct lack of the texture of history in the place. He made sure to remind himself later to bring his camera and take more pictures. The last he'd been here, it had been far too crowded for proper positioning and adequate lighting. "Where is the kitty?"

"Where indeed," Yukimura echoed in wonder, eyes about the place. It was a wide space, but it was open, and it was easy for them to see the blatant lack of scurrying white Himalayan kitties. "He's not here, Ryoma-chan.

"But the only open door is the door we came from, and if he got out, that would be his only way out," Fuji attentively observed. "Which means that he either slipped back out, walked down the hallway, and slipped into one of the open rooms, or he is still in here somewhere."

"But I don't see him," Ryoma exasperatedly complained. "If he were still here, where would he hide?" As if to emphasize his point, he spread his arms and whirled in a wide dervish arc. "This is open space!"

Fuji peered into hidden little eaves and under heavy draperies, but to no avail. Yukimura, however, simply walked up to the center of the room, paused, and tilted his head back.

"Cats love high places, nyanko-chan," he remarked. "Look up."

-

* * *

-

"Yes, we _have_ made considerable progress, Yuushi," Keigo tartly spoke. The new wireless phone's blinking green light, indicative of speaker phone mode, somewhat irritated him for no fathomable reason like his classic brass telephone had not. (Then again, almost anything and everything irritated him ever since the Infernal Brat stepped into his life.) "There is no need to speak to me as if I am an imbecile, because one, I most certainly am not, and two, I will not have you insinuate so otherwise."

"I'm merely checking on you, Keigo." The velvety voice flowed through the line so easily it was as if they were really sitting across each other. "You worry me, sometimes."

Keigo rolled his eyes, hearing dredges of well-hidden amusement within Yuushi's voice. The infuriating bastard was actually enjoying this. "I appreciate the concern, but I assure you, it is completely unnecessary. I can handle things here, without you needing to worry. Do me a favor and spare not a thought about my own well-being. Make the most of your weekend vacation." _It will be the last vacation you will get for the year, this I will make sure of_.

"Oh, I will," Yuushi chuckled. "You should, too. Tens of thousands will kill to be able to spend a day with _the_ Echizen Ryoma, and much more for an entire glorious _weekend_."

Twitching at the insult of being compared to commoners but not having the energy for doing much else, Keigo merely acquiesced with a resigned sigh, bidding Yuushi a good night's rest and parting with a promise of further progress by the end of tomorrow. They (and by they, he meant everyone who was hell-bent on having him and the Brat spend the entire weekend wasting away in each other's miserable company) were actually expecting completion of two-thirds of the piece by the weekend, which was, in Keigo's opinion, asking a bit too much, especially considering this was their first time actually collaborating on a piece.

Yuushi reasoned, however, that he should already be well-accustomed to working under duress, having been trained for such situations since childhood. This was why he did not like arguing with Yuushi. The sly violinist always had some variation of argumentative ammunition ready for use, and more often than not, they were formidably convincing (and not to mention, conniving). He could remember several instances when Yuushi had even dared to go as far as using _him_, _the_ Atobe Keigo, as _bait._ The bastard.

He switched his table lights off, leaving only the floor lights that gave a soft yellow guiding glow. With ease and familiarity, he navigated his way out of the darkened study and through the short connecting hall that led to his sleeping quarters. He dimmed his bedside lights to an almost candle-like glow, before removing his robe and slipping into his luxurious Eastern King bed, mink and Egyptian silk warming his skin upon contact. The familiar comfort soothed his frayed nerves, and he burrowed deeper under the abundance of soft pillows and warm blankets.

Laying there, he waited for the settling drowse of sleep. He could still remember the first time he lulled himself to sleep as a child, his father yet to come home from work and his mother having gone on a trip to Madrid. He'd been frightened out of his wits (though he would never admit to any such thing), uncertain if he could even coax himself to close his eyes as he lay in the cold and suffocating darkness. However, the moment he slid into the comfort of his bed, arguably the best existing bed in the entire world, his eyes had drooped and his breathing had slowed, sleep already tugging him into her warm and soothing hands.

So long as he was settled within his same bed, sleep was not a worrisome matter. Sleep was, in fact, a very pleasurable--

Keigo frowned.

_Why am I still awake?_

He groaned, burying his face into the softness of his pillow. He didn't even need to grace the question with a few moments of thinking, for the answer came flush into his consciousness. He lay petulantly still, refusing his instincts, binding his arms and feet to the bed by sheer willpower. He was not moving. He was not moving, and he was most certainly _not _going to get out of _bed_, and he was standing and walking and—

_Bloody hell._

He grabbed his robe and, hanging his head with a resigned sigh, strode out of his room.

-

* * *

-

The mighty search for his wayward house guests was at best tedious. As per his suspicions, the prepared guest suites were bare and the Infernal Three were nowhere to be found. Keigo never expected that the day would come when he would rue the sheer number of rooms that comprised his manor. He was supposed to be sleeping, and yet here he was, opening and closing random doors in his search, feet padding quietly upon the carpeted and darkened hallways.

He was just about ready to give it up and hope against hope that the three would at the very least resurface with their lives intact the following day, when he sighted light from the ballroom, which was situated across the courtyard on the other side of the manor.

Keigo could not fathom how in the world they managed to get themselves that far. Did they, perchance, trek across the entire manor in some sort of deranged midnight parade?

Sighing, he took a detour into one of the smaller but faster passageways, and was surprised to find the small side door ajar. Light streamed through the crack, and the barest hint of Fuji's voiced words drifted to Keigo's ears.

_So they didn't cross the entire manor. But how did they know of this passageway?_

Once more, the recurring tick in his eyebrow came back. The passageway was supposed to be a _hidden_ passageway, only known to the family and the most trusted servants. He did not recall ever revealing any such information to any of them—but then, he grimaced, there was Yuushi.

He shook his head and gently pushed the door open, stepping into the ballroom and expecting some sort of quasi-slumber party. The scene that met his eyes, however, was an entire galaxy away from any such thing.

"…WHAT IN THE WORLD DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" he boomed (for it was most definitely _not_ a shriek).

Perched delicately upon a folding ladder the maids used for attaching curtains and draperies on high walls, Ryoma jerked, affright. The hand he had upon one of the grand chandelier's supporting arches accidentally nudged hard, startling Karupin. The cat lost footing and fell, twisting midair and landing on four feet upon cold hard marble. Injured and frightened, it scampered under one of the draperies and hid there.

Ryoma, meanwhile, grabbed the folding ladder's top rung to steady himself. The ladder tottered precariously on its thin stilts, before it was steadied single-handedly by a rather impressive feat of strength from Fuji.

"Nyanko-chan, are you alright?!" said Yukimura.

"Young master, what happened?" said the butler.

"Get down from there, you brat!" said Keigo.

"Karupin! Get Karupin! He's hurt!" said Ryoma.

"Goodness, someone get Echizen-sama down from the ladder!" said a maidservant.

"Who was the imbecile that left a ladder out?" said another elder maidservant.

"Just get down from there, damn it!" said Keigo.

"Ryoma-chan, if you don't let go of the chandelier, it'll break, you know," said Fuji.

"Karupin, don't be scared! Will you shut it? You're all scaring him!" said Ryoma.

The small crowd that had gathered continued the chaotic nonsensical babble, all flitting around the tottering ladder held steady only by Fuji's thin and not-so-reassuring hands. Fighting the urge to join the chaos and strangle them one by one, Keigo took a deep breath, lifted a fist, and banged on the wall.

Silence.

"Get. DOWN!"

-

* * *

-

The hot tea was doing wonders for his strung nerves, soothing, comforting heat stroking down his throat. The aroma was simply heavenly, wafting and permeating the atmosphere with calm. Keigo settled his teacup upon its plate, the china making the barest clinks in the relative silence. Only the hearth's crackle accompanied it in the monotonous white noise.

Settled upon his master's lap, Karupin crooned as Ryoma's familiar fingers found a sensitive spot behind the ears. A foreleg was injured upon the high fall, jarred by the impact against hard stone. It was a wonder how the cat ever got up there at all, for the only leverages he could have used were the mounted wall lights and the eaves of the windows by the wall.

"Why," Keigo began, "did you not call for help?"

Ryoma petulantly graced his question with silence.

"What if you'd injured your hands trying to retrieve the cat?" Keigo hissed, eyes narrowing. His fingers, long and tapered, clenched, as if they itched to reach across the Victorian table and shake the boy within an inch of his life. "It was a _crystal_ chandelier, brat. You could have very easily sliced your fingers on the hanging shards!"

"But I _didn't_," Ryoma spat right back, giving Keigo his most impressive glare yet.

"But you_ could've_!" insisted the pianist, throwing his head back in exasperation. He released a gust of breath, massaging his temple. With a reproachful frown, he turned to the twin demon spawns, who both gave him completely identical innocent smiles™. So blinding they were that Keigo had to struggle and keep his eyes trained on them disapprovingly. "And the two of you. _Why, _in the name of all that is music, did you _not_ even stop and reconsider the consequences of that stunt you just pulled?!"

"Oh, but we did warn Ryoma-chan," they chirped in complete synchronicity. The smiles™, however, read: _But where's the fun in stopping him?_

It was if the two of them knew by some sort of instinct or precognition that he would come barging into their happy little escapade. Keigo resignedly decided not to pursue that train of thought. It did no good for his already drained and overworked brain. Such riddles were best left alone, this he knew by experience.

He returned his attention to a still frowning Ryoma, who was very gently fiddling with the cat's injured leg. The cat compliantly let its master do as he wished, laying still and content upon the warm lap.

_This,_ Keigo remarked, _I do not know how to deal with from experience._

He had to admit, it was the first time he'd ever encountered someone who could rile him so easily so many times in one day. This boy—this _brat_—was also the first person who's ever bothered him enough to rob him of a good night's sleep. He had to hand it to the boy—if anything, Ryoma knew how to push people's buttons.

"Are you sure you have not injured your hands?"

Ryoma simply nodded absently, fingers sifting through his cat's abundant fur. But Keigo was not to be satisfied with such vague answers. Shifting forward in his seat, Keigo leaned over the table and reached for Ryoma's hands, grabbing them and tugging them forth for his eyes to peruse.

"Wha—let go, monkey!"

Ryoma tried tugging his hands back, but it was all in vain, for Keigo had a stronger grip. The pianist simply held the smaller hands in his own, examining them and making sure every bone was in place.

"You have to learn to take care of your hands, brat," Keigo absently remarked. "They are your investments. I'm quite sure that right now you would be nothing without your music, so treasure them."

Growling, Ryoma snatched his hands back as soon as Keigo let go of them, rubbing them against his clothes and muttering something about cooties. The boy mentally vowed he would rub with alcohol and wash with anti-bacterial soap as soon as they retreated into their suites.

"Can we go now?" he sniffed, grabbing a purring Karupin from Yukimura's indulgent lap. "I need sleep."

Without even waiting for Keigo's dismissal, Ryoma stood and strode through the half-open doors of the lounge, an affectionate Karupin in his arms. Yukimura followed, but had the grace to bid Keigo a pleasant sleep. Fuji remained, however, taking his time and sipping his tea.

"Don't you think the young man is quite the dazzling subject?" the tensai chuckled.

A grimace on his face, Keigo chose wisely not to grace the question with an answer.

"Ah, come now, Atobe-kun," Fuji coaxed, his voice velvet against the sharp crackle of the fire. "You know you are partial to the boy. You can't deny he interests you."

Pursing his lips, Keigo weighed his options. He couldn't _not_ give Fuji a definitive answer, for he knew that unfinished business (whether it be a small and simple conversation or a consequential affair) with said tensai did not end well. And whether he gave an answer or not, Fuji would most probably manage to pry the information he wanted elsewhere.

It was a lose-lose situation. It always was when it came to the Demon Twins.

"He interests me, I will give you that much." Fuji gave a winning grin. Keigo merely sighed, half in exasperation, half in resignation. "Make no mistakes, for I am not… _favoring_ him. The snot-faced brat is _still_ a royal pain to handle."

"Well, then, the two of you make a good match in that respect. Most would say you're just as much a royal pain to handle as he is."

Only Fuji Syuusuke would have been able to say such a thing face to face with the King.

Stemming his temper, Keigo leveled Fuji with a glare, which was rebuffed with a simple and lovely smile™.

"In any case," Fuji sighed, settling his empty cup upon its plate, "he could fill an ocean with his potential and he most certainly has sufficient room for improvement. It can be said that you are his first…_ mentor_, of sorts, other than his mother and father. Take advantage of it. I'm sure he has plenty to learn from you. Polish him into a gem that will outshine any other. It won't be easy, granted, but I promise you it'll be rewarding."

With unreadable eyes, Keigo nodded to Fuji, understanding what his fellow pianist was saying. This was the beginning of a journey for the boy, and they—him, Fuji, Yukimura, Tezuka—will be his first teachers. Perhaps, if they manage to do their jobs properly, they would be able to bring about a polished masterpiece so brilliant the world would not be able to look away.

Fuji bid him a good night, slipping out of the lounge with the silence of an unseen specter. Keigo remained, eyes trained upon the dancing flames.

As his vision gently faded into dreams, he could not help but feel the warmth of those smaller hands in his.

-

* * *

-

Tugging on Fuji's sleeve had become Ryoma's new habit. Fuji was his new and shiny and perfectly effective shield against the pomp and panoply the Monkey King radiated on a constant basis; thus, he was very reluctant to leave the said shield's side. Wherever Ryoma was, Fuji had to be. The tensai had to sit and listen to the two of them squabble all day long while trying to make some progress. But Ryoma did not worry; he was sure Fuji was enjoying the show.

By the time the first half of the day was over, Ryoma's neck and shoulder and arms and fingers were sore from repeating the same cluster of phrases over and over to sate Keigo's perfectionism. Granted, he would have done the same measures had he actually given stock in this stupid competition, but the point was that he _didn't_.

He grumbled, nursing his shoulder as he stalked down the halls and into his suite, lugging his trusty shield with him. He didn't have his weapon today (a.k.a. Yukimura), which is why he had to take more breaks. Unlike Yukimura, Fuji tended to stay a silent spectator a majority of the time, simply sitting there and sipping tea while rifling through music sheets. Yukimura would have already leapt into the conversation had he been present, but Fuji was different. Fuji remained silently smiling.

Ryoma didn't know if this was an expression of his disinterest or if he simply was just quiet.

"Here, Ryoma-chan," Fuji offered, placing his hands upon the boy's shoulders. He lay the boy face down on the bed and started kneading gently, eliciting from Ryoma a groan of delight. He arched into the kneading fingers on his back, much like Karupin would do. "A hot bath after an intense day of practicing will do you wonders. Make sure to take one later tonight. Exercise would help too. Maybe a little running."

"No way, not in a million years," Ryoma flat-out refused, grimacing at the frost outside. "I'm not running out in _that_ weather."

Fuji, however, simply chuckled. "Who said you had to run outside? The manor has a fitness room. Somewhere down the opposite wing, near the pool, if I remember correctly."

A muffled 'yadda' was all he got in return, his charge already half-way to dreamland. The lack of sleep combined with the stress of the _very_ intense practice sessions (which could double as intense insult exercise as well, Fuji mused) was taking its toll.

"You can't sleep yet, nyanko-chan. Atobe will be dissatisfied if you don't finish at least half by today."

Ryoma groaned, burying his face further into the downy softness of the pillow. 'Finishing', in Atobe Keigo's dictionary, might've very well been 'perfecting' misspelled. Suffice to say, he was _not_ looking forward to his Sunday afternoon.

There was a brief respite, wherein silence was their only companion. Fuji worked his way up and down Ryoma's back, concentrating on the small, shapely shoulders and around the thin shoulder blades. The muscles were bunched and tense, knotted and painful. But through Fuji's careful fingers, they slowly, slowly relaxed, unwinding and releasing their iron grip.

The tensai faintly smiled.

_This build is most definitely a violinist's build. When he says he has done nothing else but music for all his life, he is speaking the truth_.

"Ne."

"Mm?"

"Yukimura told me," Ryoma began, fiddling with a tassel on an edge of a decorative pillow, "that you used to play the piano."

"That I did," Fuji replied, hands never faltering. "What of it?"

Ryoma rose from the bed, displacing Fuji's hands. He sat at the edge, looking up at Fuji with mildly curious eyes. "Play for me," he said, voice low and quiet. It was really not as much a request as it was a demand. Then again, one should not expect anything else from Echizen Ryoma.

Fuji simply gazed back down at Ryoma, still and motionless at the foot of the bed where he was sat. Ryoma watched, waited, as dappled sunlight stole through the frosted windows and illuminated the tensai's face. There was a faint chill in the air, despite the suite's pleasant warmth. A fire remained crackling in the hearth, casting weak light upon the Russian rugs.

Finally, after what felt like a whole quarter of an hour sitting there and staring at each other, Fuji gave a small amused chuckle. Without a word, he stood and strode for the door, with Ryoma scrambling gracelessly after him. Soon they were walking into the very same music room they'd spent the entire morning in.

Noting with relief the blatant lack of Monkey, Ryoma settled himself on a low couch. He watched as Fuji stood aside the grand piano, somewhat wistful fingers trailing across the keys.

And then a single note broke the silence.

Fuji sat.

An immediate flow of notes cascaded from thin air, and immediately Ryoma noticed the peaceful, elegant melody of Liszt's _Un Sospiro_. One of the most difficult studies Ryoma knew, he was surprised at the sheer ease with which Fuji played it. His eyes, inevitably, were drawn to Fuji's fingers upon the keys. Contrast between black and white was stark, but as Fuji's fingers flew over the keys, they blurred into grey.

The supple grace, the fluid emotion, the wistful yearning, a sigh. He closed his eyes and he saw a cascade of water, droplets racing ahead of one another, parting and merging in a complex dance. He felt the gentle sway of a breeze in spring, the rustle of leaves, the whisper of the grass.

Ryoma's gaze gravitated towards Fuji's face. The slanted light from the paned window illuminated but a slice of the tensai's visage. His startling blue eyes, oftentimes closed, were now half-lidded and focused upon the keys, as if trapped within a trance he wanted not to escape from. A brush of brown hair fell from behind his ear and down into his eye, but he paid no mind.

This intensity, Ryoma remarked, he had only ever seen in a few. His father was one. His mother, his brother. Tezuka, Yukimura, and that once he walked in on Keigo playing. He would never admit it, but he envied this intensity, this _invisible force_ that pulled them, tied them, to their music. This was the one thing no one could ever take away from them, the one thing they had that made them such exceptional musicians.

This was the one thing that Ryoma _needed_ to find for himself.

Ryoma knew it then.

Notes trickled from adept fingers, a controlled yet astonishingly musical flow. Bit by bit, they slowed towards a conclusion, the wistful sighing melody ending in a tone of acceptance.

It was telling the story of someone who had lost something important, along with the ability to retrieve it.

Silence.

Fuji's fingers hovered over the last notes, having lifted at the most proper moment to end the music. The echoing melody, however, still rang clear within Ryoma's consciousness, keeping him transfixed, wanting and waiting for more.

"I still think it an unwise decision to leave the piano, Fuji," a quiet voice came from the doorway. Ryoma snapped out of his music-induced trance and whirled to face Keigo. He stared at the other pianist for a brief moment, before turning towards Fuji expectantly.

The tensai, however, merely gave a wan smile. Fingers continued to wistfully caress the keys, slipping over and into dips, tracing curves and hidden notches. They fit finely with the keys, those long and tapered fingers. They were lock and key.

After a while, when it became apparent that neither were willing to broach the heavy silence, Ryoma said, "Can you play one more?"

Fuji chuckled. "Ryoma-chan, you and Atobe still have to continue into your afternoon session." He rose from his seat and walked over, hauling Ryoma up from the low couch. "And you need to eat. You have yet to lunch."

Pouting, Ryoma tugged at the tensai's sleeve. "One more."

"No, nyanko-chan. Now, you eat." Fuji's tone was final.

"Just one more?"

"No."

"But—"

"If you so long to bask in music, brat," Keigo said magnanimously, "then I shall grant you the honor of listening to my music."

He flipped his hair unnecessarily and sat himself on the piano, only to be shoved off of it rather violently. Ryoma grabbed Fuji's arm, forced the tensai to sit, took said tensai's arms, placed them so that the hands were upon the keys, and moved back.

Scowl. "_Play for me._"

Sigh. "Ryoma-chan—"

Growl. "Worthless little unctuous _goblin—_how _dare _you—"

Hiss. "_Play!_"

Louder hiss. "Do not—you _dare_ ignore _ore-sama's blinding brilliance_, you pathetic excuse of a worthless commoner! "

Placating smile. "Ryoma-chan, you need to—"

Even louder hiss. "_I want you to play!_"

CRASH!

…

"Mreowr!" Karupin mewled from atop the keys. Little paws pressed on blacks and whites as he moved, producing a cacophony of disorganized sounds.

Fuji stared at the broken vase in misplaced wonder, while Ryoma simply gaped at his pet cat. Keigo, however, was aghast.

The vase on the table by the piano was now in shattered pieces on the floor, water seeping into the carpet and flowers strewn about. The cat, in its boredom, had attempted to gain its master's attention by climbing atop the small table and pawing at said master's arm. However, said master was preoccupied squabbling with stinky monkeys and wily foxes, and unwisely ignored the cat. In a last desperate call for attention, the cat leapt off the table, successfully toppling it (and the $30,000 dollar antique vase with it), and landed upon the piano keys.

"You---you accursed ball of infernal _fur! Come __back __here!_"

Keigo made a mad grab for Karupin (which the cat dodged, of course) and slipped on the spilled water. He lost footing and collapsed to the floor in a graceless heap, while Ryoma dashed after his cat in an attempt to calm it (and most likely stash it somewhere the Big Mean Monkey would not be able to reach).

Fuji simply sat there watching as Keigo chased after Ryoma, reduced to nothing but silly careless childishness before the antics of a bored and hungry Himalayan cat.

Thus was spent the rest of the afternoon at the Atobe manor.

-

* * *

-

"I refuse. I _absolutely_ refuse," Ryoma declared, mouth set in a firm disapproving line. "I will _not_ play _Rondo._"

Keigo gave an exasperated sigh. "Why will you _not_ listen to reason, you snot-nosed spoiled brat?!"

"You have no right to talk to me of reason, monkey!" Indignantly, Ryoma said, "You aren't even _supposed_ to have the capacity for human reasoning! Perhaps that is why you keep on choosing these horrid and absolutely _abominable _pieces!"

"They are _not_ horrid pieces! They are called _music_—_MUSIC_! Of course I wouldn't put it past a brat like you to not know what the word means." Pulling off a perfect haughty sniff, Keigo looked down at Ryoma condescendingly. "Worry not—you will be sufficiently educated by the moment you step out of this house."

"You mean I will be thoroughly brainwashed by Your Monkey-ness' monkey ways that I will cease to be classified as a human being," Ryoma scoffed into his soup. He threw an acid glare at Keigo, and said glare was returned with equal fervor. Ryoma turned towards Fuji, eager for any sort of distraction. "When will Yuki come?"

"He should be here soon," Fuji reassured Ryoma for what should be the forty-third time since an hour ago. "He was just held up by some work. Don't you worry, Ryoma-chan. He'll be here soon."

Grimacing, Ryoma muttered, "Not soon enough."

"If you so dislike _Rondo_, then we shall do _Beethoven_'s Spring instead," Keigo decided, regally finishing up his soup.

"Wha—_NO!"_ yelped Ryoma, as if burned by the mere name of the piece. "It's too… happy!"

Keigo fixed him with a bland stare. "There _is_ a reason it is called 'Spring', brat."

"But it's too _happy_!" Ryoma flailed in his seat, startling Karupin, who was settled upon his lap. "Bloody hell, can't we just do a Paganini? Or the _Hungarian Dances_! Something else, just not that!"

"Just not what, nyanko-chan?" came a gentle voice from by the doorway. In came Yukimura, flushed from the sudden warm respite from the chill.

"YUKI!"

Every bit the relieved child, Ryoma shot out of his seat (startling poor Karupin once more) and started rattling off his complaints to Yukimura's ever smiling face™. Never mind that the Monkey was in the room to hear every harangue towards his own hospitality. Now he had both his weapon _and_ his shield—surely the Monkey would no longer stand a chance!

"Did you miss me, nyanko-chan?" Yukimura chuckled, petting Ryoma's soft black tresses. The boy gave a half-hearted scowl that, both knew, did not radiate complete displeasure.

"Tame your pet, will you, Yukimura?" Keigo sighed, gesturing to one of the maids. A seat beside Ryoma was already prepared for the cellist, and the only missing thing was the food to eat. "He refuses proper pieces for the concours."

"I wouldn't call something as _flashy_ as _Rondo_ as proper, Monkey," sniffed Ryoma. "Figures. Monkeys just have no taste at all."

"_Rondo_?" echoed Yukimura, seating himself and taking a sip of water. "Mozart's _Rondo_? It's a good piece. I like it. Why will you not play it, Ryoma-chan?"

Incredulous, Ryoma gaped at Yukimura. Across the table, Fuji giggled. "Because it's—it's _hade_! (1)"

Yukimura's gaze flitted between Keigo, Fuji, and Ryoma, contemplative.

"We're not playing _Rondo_," Ryoma stated, confident that he would get what he want, especially now that he had both weapon and shield back. "That's it, and that's final."

Never did he stop and think what would happen if either one was a traitor.

-

* * *

**To Be Continued**_  
(Revised Version)

* * *

_

**Kia Ixari / Aventria**_  
First Draft: 2008.11.07  
Uploaded: 2008.11.08  
Last Updated: 2008.11.08_


	11. Op 10: Appassionato

**Concerto**  
Kia Ixari & Aventria

(2008.11.14) So since the trip to the whole foods store was aborted, I have decided to spend my Friday afternoon lounging around with a mug of hot chocolate (it's freezing out, ah, love~) and the trusty little Mac on my lap. (Be grateful, slaves. XD)

As a reply to one of the reviews we have received from the previous chapter, we ARE going to have this TezuRyo. Ultimately. But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun along the way, right? You've got to set a balance. It can't all be just one thing. _No one_ is all about just one thing. **Such is life.**

**Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimer applies.

**A note to those who want to hear the piece performed:** the link to a page named Music of Concerto is on our profile. Click on it, and it will lead you to a page that has the links to music downloads (or videos, if we can't upload/don't have said piece). I highly suggest listening to the pieces while reading. Or at least, listen to it once. It gives you an idea of why we describe said pieces as we do, why we picked said pieces for Ryoma and Keigo, and why they are considered… well, quite difficult by normal standards. (You might want to take note of the names of the pieces, too. You'll have to know which one you want. The list is organized by composer.)

**On the character chart request (2008.11.22):** I have published a characters & instruments chart for you readers to refer to whenever you feel lost and cannot recall who played which and which played who. Sadly though, the information released will be tightly monitored. We do like spoilers, but only when we're having them. We don't like sharing, see. We're egotistical that way. XD The link is on our profile. Feel free to clicky~.

**Things to look forward to (read: Warning):** Quasi-smecks~! XD

-

* * *

**SONATA  
Op. 10: Appassionato  


* * *

-  
**

**(1) shomin – **Lit: "commoner." Someone of relatively lower rank/low social status. Ordinary people. To Keigo, they're literally the rest of the world.

-

* * *

-

The first day of Intraschool Concours was welcomed with much merry fanfare from students, teachers, and guests alike. It was a much celebrated event, well-ingrained and plenty useful for the university, most certainly deserving of the sizable crowd it gathered.

Students from other universities milled around, scouting and investigating, most likely to gain possible leverage against their guaranteed fellow competitors for the nearing Interschool Concours. In retaliation, students of residence were trying their hardest to thwart in any way possible said wayward attempts, and at the same time make it look like they were simply being the kind welcoming committee they were supposed to be. (Of course, it did not help that Yukimura and Fuji were the first ones of the higher echelon to show and man the preparations for the long day.)

There were fans, of course, a mix of elated faces, young men and women alike, faithfully stalking their stalkee of choice. A horde continually followed—or at least _tried_ to follow—Fuji around, as if they were wildebeests in heat and Fuji was the zebra leading them through the terrain. Enthusiasts who were either new to the classical scene or complete novices to music in general were curiously rifling through pamphlets, trying to get their heads around the names of the performers, as well as the frighteningly long names of the pieces to be played.

The media was having a field day, for today was most certainly a special day. Several well-known musicians were actually spotted walking around before they could be ushered into an especially commissioned VIP suite, where they were to wait until the time of viewing. They were to be guided much later to their ideally situated VIP boxes; for now, all they had to do was relax. Reporters were already scratching away on their handy little flip notebooks as they rattled questions to the university chancellor and provost. The moment Ryuuzaki emerged from within the inner offices, she was also immediately swamped by reporters with a basketful of questions, most of which regarding the new resident celebrity.

However, for the said celebrity, such a day was most definitely not a happy one.

Tugging on his tie, Ryoma grumbled. Having somehow impossibly escaped the persistent tagalong horde, Yukimura was now fiddling with his hair from behind, while he was forced to face a mirror and quietly endure the torture. The cellist insisted on some very mild styling gel in order to "accentuate" his hair. Ryoma had been all against it, but did it really matter? No, of course, it didn't.

The past two weeks had flown by in a blur of incredibly taxing practice sessions (the bloody ape was harder on him than his own _father_!) and a multitude of sleepovers at the hideously luxurious manor, most of the time accompanied by either Fuji or Yukimura. The audition for the concours was at best uneventful; the Twins were the only ones there, and they'd already heard him play the piece just about a million times during those accursed practice sessions. He couldn't help but entertain the very possible possibility that the Twins had orchestrated things to be such and pushed everyone else out of the audition hall once it was his turn. They probably wanted to reserve his first performance in front of the people who mattered for later. The rest of it was formality; he didn't even bother lingering to listen to the rest of the people who were auditioning.

And alas, before he knew it, the concours were upon them.

_Heavens help me._

He hated the noise outside; it was upsetting Karupin. It was the _concours_, not the bloody commoner fair! They were supposed to _behave_ and be sensible adults, for heaven's sake. Adults behaving like mindless little flailing children seemed to be the fad these days, he mused. Common sense apparently was not common at all.

"Nyanko-chan, if you keep on scowling like that, it'll freeze onto your face and ruin your lovely charm," Yukimura murmured as he happily wiped his hand on a towel and took Ryoma's tie. With gentle fingers he rearranged it into a presentable knot, the creases Ryoma's fiddling fingers had made seemingly disappearing into thin air.

"Who cares," grumbled the boy. "They can all go burn."

"Oh?" Fuji echoed faintly from where he was perched comfortably by the bed. "But if they all go burn, the concours will be cancelled. And if the concours are cancelled, then there will be no judging for the Chamber. And if there's no judging for the Chamber, you won't be able to play with Tezuka. And if you—"

"Alright, alright, I get it, I need to be nice and charm them and play!" Ryoma burst out loud, red and fuming. "Just please, shut up."

Giggling delightedly like gossiping high school girls, Yukimura and Fuji convened into a huddle of whispers and sly glances. Ryoma's eye twitched, a habit his muscles seemed to have taken an immense liking to for the past two weeks. He did not like it when those two did that huddle-and-whisper-and-giggle thing. The back of his neck prickled, and his instincts screamed 'DANGER! EVACUATE!' so loud he was tempted to think it really was coming from outside and not inside his head.

After a moment more of hushed whispers Ryoma's sharp ears could barely catch, the Twins separated. The benevolent smiles™ were back on their similarly innocent faces once more, which could only mean a great deal of trouble (and a great deal of clean-up work afterwards).

Ergo, instead of gracing them with acid words of reproach, Ryoma simply took his violin and strode towards the door. He made sure to pet Karupin and coo the gentle words of a temporary goodbye before he left. He had already locked the balcony doors and closed the blinds to ensure no one would be peeking into the very last vestige of privacy he had within this godforsaken soy-addicted maniac-infested country.

Slamming the door behind his back, he (very intentionally) hit Yukimura squarely in the face.

He smirked.

_That felt good._

_-

* * *

-  
_

Nursing what promised to be a gigantic migraine by the evening, Tezuka strode through the lobby to drag Keigo away from the squealing mob of fangirls (and the occasional boy). He proceeded to haul a (still gloriously awesome but horribly) miffed Keigo towards the secluded and relatively quiet Student Council meeting room.

The moment they were in, Keigo tugged his arm out of Tezuka's firm grip and readjusted his cuffs. "You did not have to bodily _drag_ my glorious self from my loving admirers, Tezuka," he informed his fellow pianist with a deigning sniff. "I can very well walk on my own. I am not a cripple."

"And I am not stupid," Tezuka sighed irritably, sinking into one of the chairs. He nursed his temples, a roaring pain now unraveling behind his eyes. "Please, Atobe. Try not to make a scene. The media are already a handful as they are."

Keigo raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think you are talking to? Ore-sama was not _trying_ to make a scene. Ore-sama's presence simply demands one by Itself," the diva very graciously informed him.

A mental groan was all Tezuka could muster as a reply to such a statement.

"You do know that you are given subordinates so that you can delegate the work, do you not, Tezuka?" Keigo sighed gently. He sat himself down in his favored chair with grace that could only be perfected through years of merciless practice under his mother's watchful guidance. "You overburden yourself when there is no need to. Let people do the work for you sometimes."

"Not a very reassuring prospect, considering the people we have around," Tezuka dryly remarked. It would be absolute disaster if Yukimura and Fuji were to be left alone to deal with the event, and Inui and Yanagi were completely out of the question. Such things were too volatile to entrust within their very irresponsible wander-prone hands.

In all honesty, Tezuka could still not understand how Keigo could completely entrust his on-goings within Yuushi's hands. Perhaps he was not aware of the dubbed Shadow King's tendencies? But then, he reasoned with himself, the two heirs grew up together and were practically brothers in every sense but biological.

_Perhaps that's why they can trust each other so easily despite their… __shortcomings__._

In an effort to clear it, Tezuka shook his head. He took a deep breath. "In any case, please refrain from showing yourself too much if you will attract attention. I assure you there will be plenty time to... _showcase_ yourself much later, but for now, please, Atobe. I ask for a little cooperation."

The request wrung a wry smile from said multimillion dollar heir. "Well, since you asked _so_ nicely…"

One last warning glare and Tezuka stood from his seat. He was just about to go through the doors when they were pushed open and a very harassed and aggravated Echizen Ryoma stormed in, followed by a very cheerfully harassing and aggravating Fuji and an evidently mildly miffed Yukimura rubbing a red cheek (but still smiling amusedly nonetheless).

Inwardly, Tezuka groaned.

"Ah, Atobe-kun! Good morning!" bid Yukimura, eyes brightening with delight. He ushered the handful of potty-mouthed hissing little bundle of joy he had as his charge into one of the comfortable chairs. "I do hope you've had a restful sleep? Today's the first performance, and first impressions always last the longest. You don't want to disappoint the hefty crowd we have out there."

"Of course," the diva haughtily sniffed. "Ore-sama will not disappoint. Ore-sama _never _disappoints."

Ryoma, sat across Keigo, gave an aggressive hiss, ruffling like an enraged cat. It was evident that the word 'loathed' did not even begin to cover the extent of dislike Ryoma harbored for said diva and the performance they were forced to pull together.

"Gather all that negative energy of yours and channel it into your music, brat, if you're that angry."

"I'm afraid that will desecrate Brahms," Ryoma frowned. "I am not so angry that I would stoop to such a thing."

"Then channel it somewhere else and quit _hissing_ at every person you see," Keigo heatedly shot back. The irritated diva turned his eyes away from his irritant and instead towards the steadily ticking wall clock. They were only a mere fifteen minutes away from the beginning of the entire event. Though it was not really much of a worry for them, for they were the very last in line.

Remembering how he and the brat were both vetoed when they'd insisted to go first in line, Keigo's eyebrow twitched in apparent annoyance.

-

_A smattering of council members sat around the table, sipping tea while poring over requests from students, most wanting to be either at the very top or at the very bottom of the roll. Today they were to decide the order of the participants, and they were already more than halfway, for the first ones were really easy to place. Since all the participants wanted either first or last, they simply put them in alphabetical order in the middle, leaving the last two spots at the top and the last two spots at the bottom vacant. (In hindsight, giving the participants the option to request for their preferred spot was actually pretty pointless considering how they overrode the submitted requests anyway.) _

"_Oh, what's this?" Yukimura faintly voiced, plucking a piece of paper from the mess that was the request forms from the other participants. The cellist's sharp eyes immediately recognized the very familiar handwriting on the sheet. It was from Ryoma. "Ryoma-chan wants to be the first to perform?"_

_All eyes immediately gravitated towards Yukimura, expectant and wanting for a substantial explanation. The cellist, however, simply glanced over to a nonchalant Keigo._

_Meeting the cellist's gaze, Keigo sighed. "Ore-sama agrees with the brat. It would be ideal for us to go first."_

"_That's not the word Ryoma-chan used," Yukimura smiled, reading off the paper. "He said it would be _convenient_ for him if the two of you to go first. Apparently, he's eager to get this over with."_

"_No surprise there," Fuji chuckled. "He seems to be at the very end of his wits dealing with you, Atobe-kun."_

_Keigo resisted the very strong urge to retort acidly that he too was at the very end of his wits dealing with the Infernal Brat. Why the brat had to be brought forth into this blessed world, Keigo did not know, and he figured he did not want to know. He just wanted the brat _gone_._

"_Shall we skip the prelude and simply decide?" Keigo snapped irritably. His irritation towards the impertinent child was like a recurring rash—whenever he thought about it, it itched more. _

"_Now, now, 'To-Be-To-Be-chan," Yukimura cooed sweetly, the same benevolent smile™ once again on his deceptively angelic face. "You are as much a man of music as I am. You should know the purpose behind preludes! You, of all people, should be able to appreciate a little foreplay."_

_Twitch._

"_Ryoma-chan has been real nice and behaved these past few, you have to admit," Yukimura continued without heeding the blaring warning signs of a nearing diva explosion. "He doesn't struggle as much anymore. He's a lot more docile and easy to handle. Oh, of course that takes half the fun out of it, but I guess we've got to do what we've got to do…" _

"_Yukimura." _

_Tezuka's warning tone effectively (but only temporarily) stemmed the cellist's advances, for which Keigo was immensely thankful. He was all but wheezing from the intense anger management boot camp the brat forced him under for the past two weeks, and he was almost down to the last straw. _Almost_ there. And Yukimura was a thorn in his already painful side._

_He was, however, broken from his internal hissy fit when Tezuka spoke._

"_I do not think putting Atobe and Echizen at the top of the list is a good idea," the former-violinist-turned-pianist remarked thoughtfully._

_Keigo was floored. _

"_Because it would not be fair to the other contenders," Tezuka answered, reading the unspoken but blaringly obvious question splattered all over Keigo's face. _

_Crossing his arms, Keigo sat back against his chair with a set and unconvinced frown. "I do not see your logic."_

_With a great sigh, Tezuka began. "The competitors are clearly very… different from the two of you. You are one of the university's best pianists, and Echizen is an international superstar. Those are most certainly things to consider, since they will affect the… well, they will affect everyone who will be joining and performing alongside of you."_

_Keigo's stare remained evidently unconvinced. "Wouldn't that be more reason for us to go first?"_

_A faint frown put delicate wrinkles upon Tezuka's forehead. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words to say, his rigorous politeness holding fast and strong despite the message he wanted to carry across._

_Finally taking pity on him, Yuushi expertly stepped in (and the others let him, for he was most capable of dealing with any type of Atobe-mood, PMS and whatnot, that Keigo could unleash upon them, the unsuspecting flock). He very boldly stated, "The essence of what he is saying, Keigo, is that if you and Echizen go up there, perform first, and blind the living souls out of everybody in the hall, every person coming after you in the list will be, suffice to say, scared shitless and scarred for the rest of their lives. Tezuka here is trying his best as a responsible leader to keep that from happening. It would be disastrous to have all of them drop and disappear out of thin air. They _are_ profit for the school, after all."_

_Keigo's eyebrows raised in __sympathetic __understanding. "Ah."_

_Reluctantly, Tezuka nodded in confirmation. That wasn't _exactly_ how he would have put it, and that also wasn't _exactly _why he wanted to stop Keigo and Ryoma, but so long as the point was carried across, he figured it was fine. Yuushi and Keigo were both born and raised businessmen—they were all for the profit. (His concern was actually along the lines of ethics, for it surely would have been inhuman to let such innocent people suffer eternal scarring that can otherwise be circumvented.)_

_Yuushi then turned towards Tezuka and remarked, "You should have simply skipped the fancy words and gotten to the point. He won't be offended if you tell him that he scares people. In fact, he takes it a complement."_

_Tezuka nodded once more, taking note of given advice._

"_But ore-sama fails to see why ore-sama should inconvenience ore-sama's brilliant self in order to make space for such... unimportant _shomin_ (1)." Flipping his hair away from his eyes with a regal (and completely extraneous) flair, he settled the rest of the table's occupants with a daring glare.__ "The needs of royalty __**must**__ be addressed first in order to meet the needs of the _shomin_, after all."_

_Tezuka sighed, forehead crumpling in pain._

"_Think of it this way, To-Be-To-Be-chan," Fuji spoke for Yukimura, who was currently still under reprimand by Tezuka. "If you go last with Ryoma-chan, then you'll be able to finish the day and go out with a bang. You'd be the highlight, and everyone will _surely_ remember you and your performance, since you'd be the last to go. The media, I'm sure, would painstakingly stay a day to wait for the two of you. I mean, what's a few more hours to wait when they've already waited a month, right?" He gave a benevolent smile™._

"_Indeed," Yukimura agreed, nodding with the very same benevolent smile™._

_Inwardly seething, Keigo had no choice to surrender. Not when the Twins, Yuushi, and Tezuka were all vetoing him. Brilliant though he was, he knew his (impossibly high) limits. Truthfully he could still push for what he wanted—there is always more than one way to skin the cat, after all—but he knew where to stop. If he pushed any further, it would only result in the Twins bearing down on him like the plague that they are. Tezuka, too, would be incensed. Yuushi would simply make his workload for the rest of the month even heavier than it already was._

"_Fine," he sniffed as delicately as he could, without appearing annoyed. "Ore-sama will grant His magnificent grace to the _shomin _for them to prepare for ore-sama's glorious spectacle."_

_As such, it was decided that they were to perform last, shortly after six o'clock in the evening, right before the reception party for the VIPs._

_The night after __the__ said meeting, the Infernal Brat was a hellcat on his ass. _

_Suffice to say, there wasn't much of restful sleep that night._

-

Trying to stop himself from grinding his teeth too hard, he loosened his jaw and took a deep breath to relax. It would not do to appear ruffled and messy in front of people. Appearances and reputations were of utmost importance and were to be guided with one's life, for so much depended on them. This was the basic of the very basic of all Atobe family creeds. He'd learned this creed and had been upholding it for the past eighteen years; he had no intention whatsoever of stopping anytime soon. It had served its purpose, and it would continue to. So long as it did, there was no point in letting go.

"Nervous, monkey?" Ryoma smirked. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now."

Keigo raised an eyebrow, the well-practiced condescending glare directed at its newest favorite target. "Do you realize who you are talking to, brat?"

"Why, yes, I do," the young virtuoso replied, the same smirk still confidently plastered on his face. "I'm talking to a piano-playing monkey who's now getting cold feet and does not want to go up the very scary stage."

Twitch.

"I'm talking to a monkey who, in a short while, will be shaming himself in front of hundreds of people by stumbling on notes through his nervousness," Ryoma continued, ignoring Yukimura's light giggles from a corner and Fuji's gentle voice against Tezuka's deep one outside the door. "I'm talking to a monkey who will mess up my performance because of his ape-brained ill-conceived antics. _That's_ who I'm talking to."

Twitch.

"Or should that be a 'what'?"

"_You ungrateful infernal excuse of a—_"

"Now, now, now, 'To-Be-chan!" Yukimura hurriedly stepped in, holding Keigo back. "Let's play nice. We don't want the two of you sporting identical and awfully auspicious panda black-eyes on stage, do we?"

"That's easy enough to cover with concealer and make-up, though," Fuji thoughtfully remarked as he reentered the meeting room. "Maybe you should just let them vent for a while before they go up there and perform."

Tezuka, who was leaving for the event's initiation, sighed and called out, "Fuji, Yukimura, don't bait them."

"Oh, we won't!" Yukimura cheerfully bid. "We need them alive, after all!"

"I shall have you know that ore-sama will be flawless today, as per usual," Keigo sniffed, his hardest glare trained upon the petulant boy who bounced it right back. "If there's anyone who will be messing up, it'll be _you_and _your_ stubby fingers."

Ryoma smirked. "We'll see about _that._"

"Yes, we will, won't we?" Keigo's frown very slowly morphed into a smirk as he registered the challenge to his authority and gloriousness. He couldn't possibly refuse any such thing, could he now? He rested his elbows upon the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice as he muttered ominously, "Are you prepared to lose a _third_ time, brat?"

The boy's eyes narrowed the fraction of an inch. "Oh, no. I'll be having _you_ on the losing side this time. That I swear on my violin today, ape."

"Oooh, a _third_ round?" Fuji grinned. "Lovely."

Yukimura's gaily laugh echoed through the room, making Ryoma scowl in displeasure. The Twins were once more pleased with the turn of events, and were having the times of their lives being spectators to the collective human race's suffering (namely Ryoma and Ryoma only, for the ape was not to be considered human). He simply _knew_, by instinct or whatnot, that this entire thing—_everything_ about this fiasco waiting to blow in their faces—was the Twins' elaborate plot to get their more-than-fair share of entertainment. He could not help but ponder how differently the Twins' brains were wired from the rest of the human race. They were wired to have endorphin rushes whenever someone else was suffering within their immediate proximity, even more so if the suffering was somehow—directly or indirectly—brought upon by their own hands. Quite literally speaking, they were getting off on others' suffering.

Reminded once again of The Competition That The Thrice-Damned Dolphin And His Twin, The Fox, Forced Upon Them To Get Them To Decide A Bloody Piece To Play Which The Infernal Dolphin and The Cursed Fox Helped The Monkey Cheat At So It Really Shouldn't Be Called As Such, Ryoma grimaced.

Even now, two weeks and a day later, he still couldn't wrap his head around the idea that he'd lost.

To the ape.

_Twice._

He didn't even _dare_ try and remember what the bloody competition entailed, not now that he'd already _finally_ managed to _forget_ it. (He had already successfully—and very painstakingly—accomplished suppression, which was not very easy to do when there were certain _pests_ who kept on rubbing salt into the wounds. Now he was well on his way to the complete denial of said competition's existence. Soon, he would be blissfully free.)

The ultimate results of the competition? Keigo ended up getting to decide (and rather frivolously too, might he very honestly add) the rest of their pieces. To think of it, Ryoma mused, Keigo ended up choosing _all_ of their pieces. His grimace simply deepened when he recalled how he'd been conned into agreeing to Brahms as their first piece. Now he was stuck with two more utterly apish pieces to play.

"Lighten up, nyanko-chan," Yukimura smiled. The cellist reached over and patted the boy's cheek gently. With a sweet, sugarcoated voice, he said, "Don't worry, it'll _all _be over before you know it."

"Right," Ryoma murmured under his breath. "And I'm supposed to believe that."

Slamming the door in the cellist's face, Ryoma now realized, was a grave mistake. It might have felt awfully good at that point, but he was inclined to believe that such a minute moment of pleasure would be enough to make up for all the suffering he might have to endure for the duration of the concours. He was entirely sure Yukimura was up to something, a something that would surely only make the entire experience hurt all the more. How that was possible, he didn't really know, but he didn't dare put it past the cellist to figure _something_ out. The Twins weren't dubbed demon incarnates for nothing.

"Would you like to get breakfast, Ryoma-chan? Oh wait. It would be brunch, wouldn't it?" the cellist said, checking the wall clock. "It is a bit late."

"Ryoma-chan slept in," Fuji quipped. "No stress at all for the superstar."

"Nope, no stress." Ryoma reclined in his seat as Yukimura borrowed Keigo's phone to borrow Keigo's servants and have them bring up some of Keigo's food. It wasn't currently advisable for any of them to leave the safety of the meeting rooms, for they would surely be swamped by the crowd. Their best chance of slipping past was to wait for the event to begin and sneak out when the crowd was preoccupied.

Yukimura returned Keigo's phone and rose from his seat beside Ryoma. "Well, we'll be heading out now."

"You're not staying?" Ryoma voiced in surprise.

"We _do_ need to be present at the concours to judge, Ryoma-chan."

"But—but—who am I supposed to eat with?" Ryoma sputtered.

The cellist gave him a small peck on the cheek coupled with a very sweet smile™. "Why, 'To-Be-To-Be-chan is here, isn't he?"

With that, the Twins strode out the open doors, both carrying blue folders for their judging duties, headed towards the Performance Hall. Ryoma was left gaping after them, while Keigo merely gave a sigh.

Silence.

"Close your mouth, brat. It's uncomely."

-

* * *

-

"No. 5, the girl who played the violin, she was rather good," Oishi remarked to Inui as they made their way back into the hall. The intermission had just ended, and the latter half of the list was now due. "Do you think they'll let her in?"

"There's a forty-five percent chance," Inui replied calmly. "Therefore, it is not very likely."

Oishi gave a small sigh. "I've always thought our standards were a tad too unrealistic." And it was true, for the university's First Chamber Orchestra was one of the hardest orchestras to get into in the whole country, coming only second to Toudai's very finicky First Symphony. (Then again, Toudai's First Symphony was one of the only orchestras in the country who could actually rival Ondai, so he figured that was reasonable.)

"I think that's because we have such mean people on our panel, nya." Eiji suckled peacefully on a lollipop as he walked alongside his beloved aibou. He was a little sedate today, if only because Fuji had reprimanded him earlier and Tezuka had threatened to ban sweets from the Dormitory for a week if he didn't calm himself and stop his unnecessary flailing motions.

"You only say that because you've been scolded, Eiji," Oishi blandly said.

"No I don't!" Eiji said heatedly. He turned to Inui, who merely kept walking stoically. "Inui, Inui, tell him! Fuji really _is_ mean! And then there's Yukimura-kaichou too!"

Inui cleared his throat. "There _is_ a ninety-nine percent accuracy to Eiji's statement."

"Which means it's true!" Eiji triumphantly declared. He threw his arms out to emphasize his point, but only hit his hand against the wall, and proceeded to howl in pain. Oishi rushed over in his usual worry, half-admonishing the redhead and half-calming him (in vain).

Inui, meanwhile, stood by and watched. He adjusted his glasses, pulled out his companion, the Green Notebook, and started scribbling. "Eiji can actually understand percentages. Ii data. I didn't expect that. There was only a thirty-four percent chance…"

"Oi! I _am_ in college, you know! And graduating too!" the redhead indignantly retorted. "You're being mean again! I hate all of you! You're all mean to me! And I've done nothing to earn it!"

Inui once more adjusted his glasses and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, a very familiar voice came from where they were headed: the hall entrance.

There stood Atobe Keigo in all his glory, having only arrived from where he and the resident celebrity Echizen Ryoma had allegedly been hiding in the council room. The said celebrity stood right beside the diva, radiating a high-and-mighty atmosphere that immediately called attention and drove away anyone unable to handle such high-and-mightiness (which incidentally meant everyone else not Yukimura or Fuji or Keigo—who was, by the way, radiating the same high-and-mightiness, thus doubling the original dose for any blissfully ignorant yet very unfortunate body who dares enter the ten-foot radius).

The Twins were currently hovering around the young virtuoso, while Tezuka tried to convince the petulant teenager into something he obviously did not want to do. Or at least, that was how it looked to Inui.

Deciding that this was most definitely worth his time and attention, Inui strode past a whimpering Eiji and a _still_ worried Oishi. As he drew closer, he began to pick up the conversation. Thankfully, almost all of the viewers were already inside for the second half of the first day.

"…just want to watch, that's all," Ryoma insisted, petulant. "Is that really so bad?"

"It—will not do good for the other competitors' psyche," Tezuka sighed, crossing his arms. Stern eyes looked down upon the unmoving boy.

"Come now, Tezuka," Keigo coaxed. "They wouldn't even know we were watching unless they actually _looked_. I doubt they _would_ look. They'd be too busy with their sheets or with trying to remember what comes next. And even if they _did _look, they'd have to have really good eyes. The spotlights _are_ quite blinding."

Tezuka remained unmoving.

Ryoma frowned. "I'm bored. I can't sit in that room all day until it's my turn. I don't care if my ears bleed—it's already been bleeding for a week with the ape's… _music_. I doubt it can aggravate any further." He sniffed derisively, earning a glare from said ape. "Let me in. I promise I'll behave."

"The second half starts in two minutes, Tezuka," Fuji pointed out. "We don't have time to argue. Just let Ryoma-chan in. He won't do anything disruptive."

"But there's no guarantee that the _audience_ won't do anything disruptive," Inui inputted with a nod of acknowledgement to the four of them. Oishi and Eiji pushed past them and slipped into the hall, the redhead sneaking a raspberry at Fuji (who merely gave a menacing smile™).

"Ah, give them a little warning and they'll calm themselves," Keigo waved off.

"The media will be there too," added Inui.

"Not like we haven't faced them before," Keigo shrugged.

"Besides, if they didn't feel confident enough, then they should not have joined," Ryoma snorted. "It wasn't as if my joining the concours was a big secret. They knew beforehand that they would be pitting against me."

"Ryoma-chan's got a point," Yukimura said.

Giving a deep sigh, Tezuka relented. "Fine. Just please, try not to call too much attention." With that, Tezuka strode into the hall, shaking his head as he went along. More and more often he was caving to their celebrity's whims, but there was really nothing much he could do, not when Ryoma was backed by both Fuji and Yukimura (and on this rare occasion, by Keigo as well).

Ryoma followed, muttering to himself, "Sure. 'Try' being the keyword."

Smirking, Keigo fell into step right beside the violin prodigy, and together the two of them, bored musicians they were, strode into the hall. The moment they stepped within the crowd's line of sight, gasps of surprise and whispers of excitement rippled through the hall.

"It's him, it's him! Look!"

"Echizen Ryoma, he's really here!"

"Look, he's walking with Atobe Keigo!"

"Aren't they performing together?"

"Is that Yukimura with him?"

"I heard he's been real close with Yukimura."

"Take a picture, hurry, hurry!"

"I wonder if we could—"

"Oi, move your ass--"

"Let me see, let me see—"

Before the gathering crowd could press around them, the media swooped in with a chaotic swarm of flashes and a confusing tangle of questions. Protectively, Yukimura ushered Ryoma behind his back, while Fuji stepped forward to stem the reporters' inquiries.

"Echizen-kun and Atobe-kun have come to observe the competition, and will not be humoring any questions at this point," Fuji spoke clearly over the loud and utterly incoherent babble. "The media will have to wait until later this evening at the reception party, where questions _will_ be answered in an orderly manner. Now, if all of you would sit down? We are on a schedule."

Stymied, the reporters reluctantly backed away. The veterans, those with the sharpest preservation instincts, moved away very quickly the very second Fuji's smile turned razor-sharp. Soon, their way was cleared, and they were able to proceed further down the aisle. Ryoma merely gave all of them his usual bored and passing gaze, while Keigo held his head high and strutted as he usually was wont.

The moment they were seated two rows behind the judges (and nestled comfortably between several of Keigo's subordinates and several of Tezuka's subordinates), the proceeds began. The whispers did not abate, though; not until the first competitor began playing and the people realized the performance had already started.

-

* * *

-

The moment Keigo and Ryoma entered the hall, Tezuka realized what a horrible mistake it was to have relented to their whim. The current competitor, one of the newer and better cellists of the university, played her music, but none was listening, for the entire audience was currently gossiping (and not very quietly, at that) about the arrival of their newest celebrity. In all honesty, he was quite impressed with how well the girl on the stage took the inattention. Surely she would have already noticed the not-so-silent whispers by now. And yet her notes did not falter. Perhaps she was worthy of letting into the Chamber?

He sighed.

Now even _he_ was getting distracted by wayward thoughts. He forcefully returned his mind towards the performance and diligently scored as the competitors came and went. The same pattern of distraction and return of attention repeated for about five or six times until the third to the last competitor finished his piece. Polite applause pattered through the hall, but before the competitor could even exit the stage, the applause abruptly stopped and loud whispers started to spread like wildfire once more.

"Yuki," Ryoma called from his seat as he stood. Beside him, Keigo was already clearing the way for the two of them, asking (or, more accurately, ordering) his subordinates to stand and make way. "We're going."

"Alright, Ryoma-chan," Yukimura smiled, turning around in his seat. He didn't look bored at all, despite the very boring and unimpressive performances they'd just gone under. The eager smile on his face was a dead give away; the bastard wanted to bear witness to the pinnacle of Ryoma's suffering, and soon. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Rolling his eyes, Ryoma followed after Keigo. "I know. No need to remind me. I'm already dreading it as it is."

Amidst whispers, the two of them quickly ascended the Hall and exited as quietly as they could. Wordlessly they headed to the prep room beside the backstage, where they were to wait until it was their turn. The halls were blissfully devoid of obstacles (otherwise known as fans and media), hastening their walk.

By the time they reached the prep room, whoever it was on stage was already midway through a (marginally presentable) rendition of Mozart's _Piano Sonata No. 8 Movt. II_. Ryoma merely shook his head, catching sight of Keigo's similarly offended grimace. Some people really did not know when 'trying it' ended and 'pushing it' began.

Ryoma went into the prep room first, but paused when he found people lingering inside. The quiet chatter hushed the moment they stepped in, all the other contenders looking up and noting their very hard-to-ignore presence. Most of the contenders were either shy or uncertain, though there were a number of them showing some semblance of a backbone by giving them either measuring stares or defensive glares.

Pushing past Ryoma, Keigo merely raised an eyebrow at his only-while-it-lasted partner. Ryoma followed after, wordlessly settling his violin down on one of the side tables and looking up at the wall mirror. He gently rearranged his tie, careful not to tug it out of the knot Yukimura had made it into. He flexed his shoulders and rolled his neck, making sure to relax his muscles and ready them for the nearing vigorous exercise. For the next five minutes he went through his usual preparatory exercises, flexing and warming his fingers, his arms, his shoulders. He could see Keigo going through the same motions through the corner of his eye.

Soon, the person on the stage finished the nine-or-so minutes of excruciatingly boring Mozart rendition. Applause once more rang through the hall, and the person—a very ordinary-looking girl in a plain blue and white dress—descended off stage.

_One more, and then it's us,_ Ryoma mentally started prepping himself. Instead of how other musicians do it by going through the sheets in his head, Ryoma simply preferred to listen to it, let himself ride the melody instead of bothering to remember thousands of notes he would probably forget the moment he stepped onto the stage. With ample practice, his fingers would remember the melody as well as his ear would, and there would be no problem.

Determined, he steeled his resolve. This would be his first real performance in front of Tezuka Kunimitsu, and it would be a piece Tezuka had already played in the past. He knew there really was no need to compare, for each musician was unique in his or her own way, but really, could he help it? No, he couldn't; not when he was up to the gills with infatuation for the man. He would be sure to not just come _up_ to expectations, but to go way above and beyond them, blow through that glass ceiling holding him in place, and let the shattered pieces rain like diamonds on the people watching him.

All the while, Keigo watched Ryoma as the boy closed his eyes and relaxed against the edge of the table, quiet and unmoving as if in meditation. By now he was familiar with this routine. He knew that this was the young prodigy's way of focusing himself inwards and tuning out the outer disturbances. Echizen Nanjiroh taught the boy well, that was for sure.

"Your violin, brat," Keigo prodded as the lady on the microphone started calling for the next performer, the last one before their turn. "Get it ready."

Slowly, as if hypnotized, Ryoma's eyes opened. Behind the golden veil was a strongly burning fire of determination only the stupidest of the all the world's fools would miss. A smirk lingered on the corners of Keigo's lips as he watched the boy retrieve the violin quietly and prepare it for the performance. It was obvious that the boy would be all seriousness tonight. He _almost_ felt a _tiny_ bit of remorse for the other participants, for they surely wouldn't taste any sort of victory for this year's concours.

Ryoma gradually regained awareness of his surroundings once more as he finished his five-or-so minute mental rerun. His annoyance started mounting as his ears registered the microphone lady calling out the name of the next participant _again._

Rounding at the other lounging musicians in the room, he snapped, "Whoever's next, get up there already!"

The other students, surprised and a tad intimidated, shrugged blankly, except for the one girl sitting by the wall, the one who'd been playing the Mozart just a while back.

"Kawasaki-san just went out a while ago just when I went to play," she said. "He hasn't come back yet?"

"Well, _obviously_, since he's _not here_," Ryoma rolled his eyes. "Are we playing 'State the Obvious'?"

Keigo absently pushed back a lock of his hair. "He's going to be disqualified if he doesn't show himself in three minutes."

Ryoma merely shook his head and turned back to his violin, testing each string to make sure they wouldn't break on him while he played. He'd only experienced that once, but once was enough. It was horrifyingly painful to have it snap against the fingers, and he wasn't eager to try another one and have it snap against his face. His face was his investment as much as his fingers, thank you very much.

Moments passed, and still no sign of Kawasaki person.

"One minute." Keigo impatiently crossed his arms, his fingers tapping an unknown melody.

"First round and somebody already gave up?" Ryoma incredulously voiced. "I thought everyone would have at least lasted until the _second _day."

"There _are_ sane people in this world, you know," Keigo offhandedly remarked. "The kind that knows not to mess with something they can't handle."

Shuffling whispers from the Hall carried through, indication of the audience's impatience. After a while more of waiting, the microphone lady finally announced the Kawasaki person's absence and disqualification, before moving on to introduce the next performer.

Keigo motioned quietly, and Ryoma followed as they made their way out of the prep room and to the backstage. They waited for the microphone lady to finish introductions, of them and of their piece.

Right before they were to walk out to play, Keigo asked, "Nervous, brat?"

Ryoma scoffed. "You wish."

Gracing Keigo with one last challenging glare, Ryoma strode proudly onto the stage.

A shower of enthusiastic applause from the now very awake audience welcomed them as they stepped on stage. Ryoma immediately took his position and inclined his head into a polite but restricted bow, while Keigo had the decency to give a proper sweeping bow before sitting himself on the piano bench.

They had to wait a few moments for the applause and the (quite improper) cheering to die down. Keigo adjusted his seat, Ryoma adjusted his stance.

And, with a single glance exchanged, they played.

-

* * *

-

If there were any remaining spectators whispering to each other in excitement or shuffling around noisily, they were surely and very abruptly silenced by the explosive opening. The media and the critics, eager for actual music, leaned forward in their seats, delighted to find that they would not be disappointed tonight.

The tempestuous nature of the piece very much suited the personalities of the two musicians playing. It was truly more of a duet than an accompaniment, for the piano and the violin gave not a single inch and struggled as valiantly as the other for space. Tension was ferried by the tumultuous notes as smooth and abrupt as a gust of wind would carry a leaf from a tree. Yet this very same tension never overflowed, simply swaying, teetering on the brink. Climbing, mounting, _almost_ falling, but still there, still hanging, still pulled tight and taut.

The frenzied struggle between the two instruments continued through the piece, a display of ferocious passion between the two musicians. Not even a single eye contact was given between the two of them, yet the exchange was flawlessly perfect that even the normally detached Inui and similarly emotionless Yanagi were mesmerized.

Sanada watched carefully, noting how typical it was for Keigo to pick a piece that would not allow the piano to be overshadowed by the violin. He also kept an eye on a very eager Yukimura beside him. The cellist was leaning forward on his elbows, utterly hypnotized. Those deep blue eyes were trained only on the violinist, however. Like a hawk, he watched his new obsession, noting every little flick of a finger, every slide and slip of the bow, every bend and twist of the wrist. Sanada could not help but wonder if this obsession was _the_ obsession for Yukimura. It seemed so. Perhaps this one would be the one that would last a lifetime. He could only wonder.

Tezuka, who was carefully observing, turned his eyes towards Ryoma's fingers. They were immaculate and precise on the fingerboard, applying the right pressure at the right moment, faltering not a single note. The music flowed, simple, effortless, and natural. The prodigy's eyes were closed in concentration, his forehead slightly creased. Tezuka had to give a small smile. Despite the boy's very outspoken disinclination towards the concours and towards Keigo, Ryoma took the music seriously. That was a sign of a good musician, Tezuka knew—to be able to play despite undesirable circumstances.

Gently, the chaotic music, suggestive of a tarantella, slowed and gave way for the piano's statement of the second subject. Shortly after, however, the violin returns the stormy, impassioned nature of the piece. There were two contrasting subjects, aggressive and passionate yet distinct and unique, linked together by interludes of melodic fragments and modulations. It was most fitting of Keigo and Ryoma.

Ryoma was greatly similar to Keigo, and yet at the same time, they were worlds apart. Ryoma's music was chaotic and impassioned, and so was Keigo's, but they were of different kinds, of different expressions. Yet despite these differences, they were tied together, if not by their similarities, then by the essence of music itself.

As the piece approached its end with the two instruments still pulling violently at the melody tying them together, the first subject was reinstated, this time with twice as much the tension and passion. Tezuka could no longer make out Ryoma's fingers clearly, for they were now too fast and frantic to follow.

The black and white of the piano blurred as Keigo's fingers gave the very last of the few notes, accompanied by harsh yet still miraculously lyrical notes from Ryoma. The two pushed to the ultimate end, the notes tumbling and cascading over one another into an electrifying conclusion.

And then, it was done.

For a few heated heartbeats, there was nothing but stunned silence.

As soon as the audience regained their bearings enough to realize that the music was over, however, thundering applause rang and echoed through the hall, amongst enthusiastic cheers from some of the students. The other participants lounging behind the stage and curiously listening despite their dread were startled, for the applause was so loud it sounded as if they were actually standing_ on_ stage and not _back_stage.

Keigo rose fluidly from his seat, standing beside Ryoma. Together, they gave a proper bow, before turning and heading out. Keigo purposefully lingered a few extra moments to savor the flashing lights and the clapping hands, before he too slipped silently backstage.

At the judging table, Ryuuzaki sat smugly as she soaked in the awed remarks of her colleagues. There really was nothing in the world that could beat watching _the_ Echizens perform in person. It was pure music, stripped and bare, nothing else.

Behind her, she heard Yukimura remark, "Most certainly a worthy performance. We're letting him in, no?"

"Of course," Fuji replied, and Ryuuzaki could just see that conniving smile on their faces. "Where would the fun be if we didn't?"

"Fuji, you're not supposed to say such things," Tezuka admonished. His resigned sigh and half-hearted frown, however, said otherwise. Even _the_ Tezuka Kunimitsu approved.

"A very unique performance," nodded Shiraishi, marking his paper. "He's in. It'll be interesting working with him."

"I was under the impression that he hated Atobe, though," Tachibana remarked. "I didn't expect such flawless coordination." He paused. "Wait. It probably is my mistake by _not_ expecting flawlessness, especially since Atobe is involved."

"Well, there's that," Yukimura chuckled. "But there's something else." He rose from his seat, having already rearranged his papers in his folders. He was eager to give his pet a… _reward _for a wondrously stunning first performance. Ryoma was sure to be the following morning's headline-grabber. Upon Tachibana's curious glance, however, he turned to them and quoted, "Passionate hatred can give meaning and purpose to an empty life."

"And one of the many things Atobe and Ryoma-chan have in common," Fuji continued, "is that their life is _music_."

With a smile, the Twins handed Tezuka their folders and swept towards the Hall's exit in rapid escape.

Shiraishi chuckled. "Better go hurry after them, Sanada, Tezuka. You don't want them wreaking mayhem on us until the concours are over." He would have wanted them to _never_ wreak mayhem at all, but then that would have been boring, not to mention quite literally impossible.

Merely nodding, Tezuka started to gather the blue folders that contained the tally for the first day. His mind was still quite caught up with the music, and he felt the beginnings of an urge to listen to it once more. He would have to ask Inui for a copy of the recorded version later.

Now that he had finally witnessed Echizen Ryoma's performance, he could begin to believe the things he'd read about the boy. Certainly, he had talent. And potential, there within the prodigy was _mountains more_ of potential, lying still and dormant, waiting for something, _someone_, to awaken it.

There were certain things, certain habits, that needed correcting, but from what he'd heard from Fuji, Ryoma was quite the fast learner. From this performance he hadn't seen any problems with the conveyance of emotions and tension, but perhaps that was because this type of music fitted Ryoma best. If he was made to step out of his comfort zone, the tiny dark spots would be revealed in the otherwise pristine and pure techniques. Hopefully, Yukimura had enough foresight to help Keigo and Ryoma pick a piece for the second day that would do so.

As the walked out of the Hall, he passed by several critics giving their comments to the eager and now awake reporters.

"This was by far Echizen-kun's most passionate performance, if my memory does not fail me," one of the female enthusiasts, a follower of the Echizen family from the looks of it, remarked. She looked familiar to Tezuka, perhaps one of Ryuuzaki's old colleagues. "True, his previous performances were very moving, but there was _something _about this particular piece that caught my attention. The tension between him and his pianist, Atobe-kun, was very real. And did you see that drive, the determination, in his eyes? I've never seen him like that before. I'm tempted to think that he's found a purpose. He looks exactly like his father did when Echizen Nanjiroh found his wife Takeuchi Rinko."

Tezuka had to stop and give the lady a contemplative glance, before going about his way. The lady's words were stuck in his head, prompting him to think.

Indeed, whenever he used to watch Echizen Ryoma on records long ago, he couldn't see a trace of actual passion beneath his music. That was probably the reason why he did not pay that much attention. This time, however, it was different. This time, he could very well feel the passion reverberating within each note, each slide of the bow against the strings, each press and flick of a finger. This time, it was there, clearly present, and it left a palpable mark on the people who saw, the people who _heard._

Echizen Ryoma was raw ore, unpolished. The young prodigy knew the techniques and the dynamics of playing music, but he still does not know how to utilize that newfound passion to further fuel his music and raise it to higher ground. Tezuka's skin practically _crawled_ in anticipation of the legend they could create within the boy. With enough experience, proper guidance, and ample support, he would grow, strong and steady, into a pillar that would secure the world of music, change it into something much better than it currently was now.

A small smile flickered upon his face.

He now felt a dash of eagerness for the first meeting for this year's Chamber. He marveled at how long a time it's been since he's felt anticipation brought about by a new member. It wasn't very often, really, for talents like Echizen Ryoma were rarer than blue moons. It would be a unique experience to play with _the_ Echizen Ryoma, especially now that the prodigy had found his purpose.

As the lady's words once more echoed within his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what single event set off the burning passion he saw earlier in the normally stoic and uncaring Echizen Ryoma's eyes.

Another mystery to ponder for him, he gathered.

-

"A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown. To live is to be slowly born."

-- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

-

* * *

**To Be Continued**_  
(__R__evised Version)

* * *

_

**Kia Ixari / Aventria  
**_First Draft: 2008.11.21  
Uploaded: 2008.11.22  
Last Revised: 2008.11.22_


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